H. De Vere Stacpoole

“ No, Monsieur Lavenne, all cookery rests on an egg. The egg is the atlas that supports the world of gastronomy, the chef is the slave of the egg. Think, Monsieur Lavenne, what is the masterpiece of French cookery, the dish that outlives all other dishes, the thing that is found on his Majesty’s table no less than upon the tables of the Bourgeoisie, the thing that is as French as a Frenchman, and which expresses the spirit of our people as no other article of food could express it—the Omelette. Could you make an Omelette without breaking eggs? ”

“ At bottom, M. de Rochefort was not a fool, and he recognized that whilst Life and Death are simply toys for a brave man to play with, imprisonment for life is a thing for the bravest man to dread. Vincennes was saving him from Choiseul, and as he stood at the window whistling a tune of the day, he followed Choiseul with his mind’s eye, Choiseul ransacking Paris, Choiseul posting spies on all the roads, Choiseul urging on the imperturbable and sphinx-like de Sartines, and Sartines receiving Choiseul’s messages without a smile. ”

“ Ma foi! women are adaptable creatures. One can never count on them—as, for instance, the Dubarry. She is hand in glove with the Choiseuls now, and that great fat Jean Dubarry swears by his friend Choiseul; one might fancy them brothers to hear Jean talking, but I would like to hear Choiseul’s view of the matter. Ah, there is Count Camus, he seems quite recovered from the blow that M. de Rochefort gave him—what an affair!—a fine, open-hearted man, Camus, and only for that vile smallpox he would not be bad-looking, but beauty is only skin deep and it is the man who counts after all. ”

“ The moonlight lit the castle wall and the dangling rope and showed the black shadow of the moat, a terrific sight that made Rochefort’s stomach crawl and his throat close. This was no castle wall which he had to descend. It was like looking over the cliff at the world’s end or one of those terrific bastions of cloud which one sees sometimes banking the sky before a storm. The moonlight it was that lent this touch of vastness to the prospect below, a prospect that made the sweat stand out on the palms of Rochefort’s hands and his soul to contract on itself. ”

“ I have Formineux, a blind man whose sense of smell is phenomenal; and I have Lavenne, the greatest Secret Service agent in the world. Bring me a book you can’t translate, the name of a man you can’t find, a crime you can’t fathom, a suspicion you want verified, you will find the answer at the Hôtel de Sartines. One of these brave men, who are mine, will read the riddle.
“But outside the Hôtel de Sartines I have other men at my service. Yes, you will find a lot of people attached to us. You yourself, my dear Rochefort, have just become one of us. The Hôtel de Sartines has touched you.” ”

“ You have known a hundred women, yet they have never succeeded in dragging you into Politics. How did this one manage it? You lost your heart to her. That is precisely what happened, and now you have lost your liberty as well as your heart; next thing, you will lose your estates, then you will take this Choiseul by the neck and strangle him, and then you will lose your head—and all through a woman.
“You have made a fool of yourself, Monsieur de Rochefort. Yesterday, you were free as a butterfly, the whole world lay before you, you did not know the meaning of the word Liberty. ”

“ Dubarry, excusing himself for a moment, closed the door, and Rochefort glanced round the room wherein he found himself.
Everything was in white or rose; the floor was of parquet, covered here and there with white fur rugs; on the rose-coloured silk of one of the settees lay a fan, as if cast there but a moment ago; and a volume of the poems of Marot, bound in white vellum and stamped with the Dubarry arms and their motto, “Boutez en avant” lay upon a chair, as if just put down in haste. ”

“ I believe you. He has the mind of a lackey and the manners of one—he only wants the livery.”
“Ah!” said Camus, with a sneer, “it is easy to see you are for the Dubarry party. Why do you not wear their colours then, openly, instead of carrying them in your pocket with your conscience?”
Rochefort laughed.
“I do not wear my colours,” said he, “my servants wear them. They are grey and crimson, not rose. I have nothing to do with the Dubarrys, nor do I wish to have anything to do with them. The Comtesse can go to Versailles or go to the devil for all I care—but what is that?” ”

“ Because she is a girl of the people; because she has a heart of gold and a soul as pure as the soul of a child, and a power of love simple and indestructible as the love of a dog; because she is a woman who can be faithful in friendliness as a man, because she is a child who will be a child till she dies. All that would be extremely absurd in Paris. But down there in the country, Madame la Comtesse de Rochefort will grow and live in the clear air that nourishes the flowers ”

“ As a matter of fact, no sooner had the excitement of his arrival at Vincennes passed off, no sooner had he dined that evening, cracked a bottle of Beaune, joked Bonvallot, and rubbed his hands at the discomfiture of Choiseul, than reaction took place accompanied by indigestion. He flung himself on the bed.
Monsieur de Rochefort was not made for a quiet life. If he could not be hunting or hawking he must be moving—moving on the pavements of Paris, talking, laughing, joking or quarrelling. ”

“ Rochefort had a big stake to lose; he had estates in Auvergne, his youth and his position in society. He had no political ambitions, but he had an ambition, ever living and always being gratified, to shine in his own peculiar way. He set the fashion in coats and morals, his sayings were repeated, even though many of them were scarcely worth repetition; his eccentricities, which were genuine and not assumed, were a feature of Paris life. Paris was his true home, and though he was seen frequently at Versailles, he was seen more often at the Café de Régence. ”

“ Brommard heaved a sigh.
“No, Monsieur Lavenne, I am not growing thinner, though if worry made a man thin, I would be a rake, what between tradesmen who do not send provisions in time and cooks who spoil them when they arrive. I have to supervise everything, and I have only two eyes instead of the two hundred that I require.”
“Well, Monsieur Brommard, we all have our worries, even his Majesty, who, I fear, is in trouble over the death of his favourite hound, Atalanta.” ”

“ If she is with me she cannot be with the persons who are against me, that is to say, Camus and the Fontrailles, if she cares for Camus.
“Fate, my dear Chartres, seems to me to be hitting at these two, and I reckon the blows I have received, not as blows aimed directly against me, but as blows I have received indirectly and by contre coup.”
“You are becoming a philosopher,” said Chartres, laughing.
“Well, we will see,” replied Rochefort. “I believe I am on the winning side, the indications are with me—well, do you still refuse to take me with you to Choiseul’s?” ”

“ THE HOUSE OF COUNT CAMUS MEANWHILE, Lavenne, when Javotte had taken her departure, set out on the business of dressing himself for the part he was about to perform. In a cupboard opening off his bedroom he had all sorts of disguises, from the dress of an abbé to the rags of a beggar-man. He was a master in the art of disguise, and knew quite well that every profession and station in life has its voice and manner and walk, as well as its dress; that dress, in fact, is only part of the business of disguise, deportment, manner and voice being equally essential, and even perhaps more so. ”

“ Her name, my dear Sartines? I am burning to know her name.”
“Mademoiselle Fontrailles. But beware of her, Rochefort; she is even more dangerous than Camus.”
“Why, does she poison people?”
“No, she only makes eyes at them. It’s the same thing. Now, what can she be doing here to-night—for she is a friend of the Dubarrys?”
“What can she be doing here? Why, where are your eyes? She is making Choiseul’s ball-room more beautiful, of course. Mon Dieu, what a face; it makes every other face look like a platter. Sartines, introduce me.” ”

“ May I offer you this glass of wine? To your health—a strange wish enough, as I believe before many minutes are over—as many minutes, in fact, as I take in finishing my breakfast and rising from this table—I shall have the honour of spitting you on my sword.”
“To your health, monsieur,” replied Lavenne, perfectly unmoved and raising the glass to his lips. “One can only do one’s duty, and as it is my duty to arrest you, I must take the risk of your sword, which I believe, monsieur, not to be sharper than your tongue to those who have offended you ”

“ The Flower of Martinique looked at Rochefort, and Rochefort looked at the Flower of Martinique.
“Monsieur,” said the Flower, “I have met many surprising things in Paris; but nothing has surprised me more than your impertinence.”
“Not my impertinence, dear Mademoiselle Fontrailles,” replied Rochefort, “but my philosophy. Have you not noticed that when two people get to know each other they generally bore each other? ”

“ If every religious house had offered sanctuary to the unfortunates pursued by the King or the nobles, then Paris would have been the best city in the world for a man who was trying to escape; this not being so, it was the worst, as Rochefort would have found to his cost had he been on that business. But M. de Rochefort was not making his escape. He was going to breakfast at the Café de Régence, despite Choiseul and the world, or rather because of them.
Anger had worked him up into a mood of absolute recklessness. He had never been famed for carefulness; wine made him mad—reckless ”

“ I would carry off the Comtesse with pleasure, but to steal her carriage—well—to that I can only reply, I am not a thief.”
Camus withdrew his arm from that of Rochefort. He knew Rochefort as a man who cared absolutely nothing for consequences—as a gambler, a drinker, and a fighter who could have given points to most men and beaten them at those amusements. He had failed to take into his calculations the fact that Rochefort was a man of honour. This desperado of a Rochefort had mired his clothes with all sorts of filth, but his skin was clean. He always fought fair, and he never cheated at play. ”

“ You are the knight, Monsieur Lavenne. You have closed in on me and shown me my position, and I do not kick the board over in a temper, simply because you have come to me as a gentleman comes to a gentleman, and spoken to me as a gentleman speaks to a gentleman. I cannot move, it seems, without being taken by either you or Choiseul. I prefer you to Choiseul, not so much because you offer me Vincennes in exchange for La Bastille, but because you are the better gentleman. Monsieur Lavenne, I place myself and my sword in your hands. Arrest me. ”

“ Sartines was the burning centre of this conspiracy to present the Comtesse Dubarry at Court in the teeth of all the opposition of the nobles, and he wished his part in it to be as secret as possible; yet he did not question Rochefort’s presence. He knew quite well that, Rochefort being there, he must have joined hands with the Comtesse. He was a man who never wasted time.
“Madame,” said he, “I have grave news to tell you.”
“Aha!” said the Comtesse, “more bad news. But stay, perhaps we know it. Is it the plot to rob me of my carriage and my hairdresser?” ”

“ The Café de Régence, at that period, was the meeting-place of the intellectuals, and at the same time the meeting-place of the bloods. Rousseau might have been seen there of an evening, Jean Dubarry took breakfast there sometimes, Rochefort, and many others like him, frequented the place. At this hour, that is to say about ten o’clock, Rochefort found a couple of bald-headed men and several rather seedy ones sipping coffee and discussing the news of the day. They were Philosophers—Intellectuals, and like all Philosophers and Intellectuals of all ages, untidy, shabby, and making a great noise. ”

“ This man who never drank—or only sipped half a glass of wine as a matter of ceremony—who belonged to the people, who dressed soberly, and whose life was very evidently one of hard work and devotion to duty, commanded respect just as he commanded confidence. But there was more than that. Lavenne had about him something of Fate, and an Authority beyond even that of the Hôtel de Sartines. One could never imagine this man reasoning wildly or acting foolishly, nor could one very well imagine him allowing a personal motive to rule his line of action. ”

“ Valmajour checked slightly at the pull of the bridle, rose to the touch of Rochefort’s heel, and passed over the crossed pikes like a bird. A shout rose from the on-lookers as horse and rider disappeared from the zone of torchlight at the gate into the blacknesses beyond, and on the shout and like the materialized fury of it, a horse and rider shot out across the courtyard in pursuit. ”

“ Rochefort removed his coat and sword-belt, got under the rug, rested his head on the pillow and in five minutes was snoring.
Javotte, crossing the landing, entered her mistress’s bedroom, where a lamp was burning.
She turned the lamp full on and sat down in a chair by the fire-place. She was in love and her love was hopeless, and her power of love may be gauged from the fact that she was thinking less of herself than of Rochefort, and less of Rochefort than his position.
She knew Camille Fontrailles as only a woman can know a woman. ”

“ Mademoiselle Fontrailles had been collecting the flowers; there was no sign of a letter among them. Jean Dubarry, white and beyond speech and unable to vent his spleen on anything else, had cuffed the China mandarin on to the floor, where it lay shattered. Rochefort, carried away by the tragedy, was cursing. De Sartines only was calm.
“It is impossible, then, for her to appear at Versailles?” said he.
“Utterly, monsieur.”
“Well, madame,” said de Sartines, “courage; all is not yet lost.”
“Ah, Monsieur de Sartines,” said the Comtesse, “what do you mean? ”