‘I fancy I see the Comte’s eyes on him now and then, which is rather strange, don’t you think?’
‘No, I don’t. The Comte likes lively children. He is desperately missing my mother and the best thing that can happen to him is to have children in the house.’
‘His own … yes. But the way in which he looks at Louis-Charles … ’
‘Oh, Lisette, stop being so obsessed.’
‘With what?’ she asked sharply.
‘With position. You are always remembering that you are the niece of the housekeeper.’
‘Well, am I not?’
‘Yes, but it is not important.’
‘It is … now,’ she answered. ‘If those agitators had their way, perhaps it would be a good thing to be the niece of the housekeeper and not such a good thing to be the daughter of a Comte.’
‘What an absurd conversation! How do you think my hair would look with this green feather stuck in it at a ridiculous angle?’
‘Very amusing … and far more important than all this talk about boring matters.’ She snatched the green feather from me. ‘Here! Let’s put it there, so that it sticks right up at the back. Isn’t that grand?’
I gazed at my image in the mirror and grimaced at Lisette, who was watching me with her head on one side.
About a week later we had a visit from the Duc de Soissonson. This was quite unexpected and put the household in a turmoil.
Tante Berthe complained that she should have been told and immediately set to work ordering her staff in her usual efficient and peremptory manner. They were busy in the kitchens. The cook plunged into her prodigious memory and remembered that when the Duc had last stayed at the château, which was twelve years before, he had shown a preference for a very special potage, the recipe for which was a guarded secret known only to her family.
In appearance the Duc was quite insignificant, in spite of his wealth which I gathered was immense, and his influence in the country was also great.
He chided my father for not visiting Paris nowadays.
‘I heard what happened to the Comtesse,’ he said. ‘A sorry business. This rabble … I wish we could do something about them. Did they find the ringleaders?’
My father, with great emotion, said that they had been unable to trace the agitator who was the real villain. It was impossible to accuse a mob. They had rioted and in the mêlée the horses had been frightened and the carriage overturned.
‘We ought to put a stop to it,’ said the Duc. ‘Don’t you agree?’
‘With all my heart,’ answered my father. ‘If I could find those responsible … ’
I wanted to beg the Duc not to talk about it.
We sat down to dine in the great hall of the castle. Tante Berthe and the cooks had certainly made sure that all the culinary and domestic arrangements ran smoothly and I was sure there could not have been more attention to detail in the ducal establishment itself.
The Duc, however, did not stand on ceremony. He was friendly and easy-going and conversation at the table was far from stilted.
Inevitably it drifted to the troubles in France and my heart sank as I looked at my father.
‘Something should be done about it,’ said Armand. I noticed he was eyeing the Duc speculatively and I wondered whether he was contemplating asking him to join his band. ‘These fellows are getting really dangerous.’
‘I agree,’ said the Duc. ‘Something should be done. But what, my dear fellow, what?’
‘Well, we should stand together … those of us who want to keep law and order.’
‘Stand together … that is the idea,’ cried the Duc.
‘We are not going to stand idly by,’ Armand told him.
‘Certainly not!’ went on the Due. ‘Nice boys you have here, Comte. I watched them from my window. Grandsons, I suppose.’
‘One of them,’ said my father. ‘And I have a granddaughter too. I hope you will meet them before you leave us.’
‘I want to do that. Do you have a tutor for the boys?’
‘Strange you should say that. We are in fact looking out for one now.’
‘Léon Blanchard,’ said the Due.
‘What’s that, Soissonson?’ asked my father.
‘I said Léon Blanchard … best man in that line, my cousin’s boy Jean-Pierre tells me. Ought to get him for your boys, but I suppose you couldn’t do that. Jean-Pierre wouldn’t let him go.’
‘I dare say we shall find a good man.’
‘It’s not easy,’ said the Duc. ‘A bad tutor can be a disaster, a good one worth his weight in gold.’
‘I agree with that,’ said my father.
Armand put in: ‘There are quite a number of us. We are not going to stand by and let the mob take over in these small towns.’.
‘Mind you,’ the Duc was saying, ‘Jean-Pierre employs the man only two or three days a week now. I wonder … ’
‘You mean the tutor?’ I asked.
‘Yes, the tutor. He’s the man. You ought to try and get hold of him. He might manage three days a week. Three days with the right man is better than the whole week with the wrong one.’
‘I think you are probably right,’ said my father.
