She glanced away from him, down at the ornate carved footboard of the bed; her fingers stroked through Mimi’s scented glossy coat. “Yes, I think I have. I have you—and I have France: I love you both—” She looked up with a sudden wistful little smile. “And I think that both of you love me.”
“I do love you, Minette. I love you more than anyone or anything on earth. I’ve never thought that many men are worth a friendship or many women worth a man’s love. But with you it’s different, Minette. You’re all that matters in the world to me—”
Her eyes took on a mischievous sparkle. “
He answered her almost roughly. “I’m not jesting. You’re all I have that matters to me—These other women—” He shrugged. “You know what they’re for.”
Minette shook her head gently. “Sometimes, my brother, I’m almost sorry for your mistresses.”
“You needn’t be. They love me as little as I love them. They get what they want, and most of them more than they’re worth. Tell me, Minette—how has Philippe treated you since the Chevalier’s banishment? Every Englishman who visits France brings back tales about his behaviour to you that make my blood run cold. I regret the day you married that malicious little ape.” His black eyes gleamed with cold loathing and as he set his teeth the muscles of his jaw flexed nervously.
Minette answered him softly and there was a look of almost maternal pity on her face. “Poor Philippe. You mustn’t judge him too hard. He really loved the Chevalier. When Louis sent him away I was afraid that Philippe would go out of his mind—and he thought that I was responsible for his banishment. To tell you the truth I’d be glad enough to have him back again—it would make my own life much more peaceful. And Philippe’s so jealous of me. He suffers agonies when someone even compliments a new gown I’m wearing. He was half wild when he learned I was to take this trip—you’ll never believe it but he slept with me every night, hoping I’d become pregnant and the trip would have to be postponed again.” She laughed a little at that, though it was a laugh without much mirth. “That’s how desperate he was. It’s strange,” she continued reflectively, “but before we were married he thought that he was in love with me. Now he says it turns his stomach to think of getting into bed with a woman. Oh, I’m sorry, my dear,” she said swiftly, seeing how white he had become, so white that a queer almost grey pallor showed through the bronze tones of his skin. “I never meant to tell you these things. It doesn’t matter, really. There are so many other things in life that are delightful—”
Suddenly Charles’s face contorted with a painful spasm and he bent his head, covering his eyes with the heels of his two hands. Minette, alarmed, reached over to touch him.
“Sire,” she said softly. “Sire, please. Oh, forgive me for talking like a fool!” She flung the little spaniel aside and hastily got out of bed to stand beside him, her arms about his shoulders; then she knelt in front of him, but his face was hidden from her. “My dear—look at me, please—” She took hold of his wrists and though at first he resisted her, slowly she dragged his hands down. “My brother!” she cried then. “Don’t look like that!”
He gave a heavy sigh; all at once his face relaxed. “I’m sorry. But I swear I could kill him with my bare hands! He won’t treat you like that any more, Minette. Louis will see that his brother mends his ways, or I’ll tear that damned treaty into bits!”
In the little room, draperies of scarlet and gold embroidered with the emblem of the house of Stuart had been hung to cover the stone walls. Candelabra with masses of tapers were lighted, for though it was mid-afternoon it was dark indoors because there were no windows—only one or two narrow slits placed very high. A heavy stench of perfumes and stale sweat clogged the nostrils. Voices were low and respectfully murmurous, fans whispered in languid hands, half-a-dozen fiddlers played soft tender music.
Only Charles and Minette occupied chairs—most of the others stood, though some of the men sat on thick cushions scattered over the floor. Monmouth had taken one just at his aunt’s feet and he sat with his arms clasped about his knees, looking up at her with a face full of frank adoration. Everyone had fallen in love with Minette all over again, willing victims to her sweetness and charm, her ardent wish to be liked, the quality she had in common with her oldest brother which made people love her without knowing why.
“I want to give you something,” she was saying to Charles, “to remember me by.”
“My dear—” His mouth had a whimsical smile. “As though I’m likely to forget you.”
