Above all she had dwelt upon the necessity of not letting the Choiseul party win possession of the dauphiness. The king had answered carelessly that the princess was a girl and Choiseul an old statesman, so that there was no danger, since one only wanted to sport and the other to labor. Enchanted at what he thought a witticism, he cut short further dry talk.

But Jeanne did not stay stopped, for she fancied the royal lover was thinking of another.

He was fickle. His great pleasure was in making his lady-loves jealous, as long as they did not sulk too long or become too riotous in their jealous fits.

Jeanne Dubarry was jealous naturally, and from fear of a fall. Her position had cost her too much pains to conquer and was too far from the starting-point for her to tolerate rivals as Lady Pompadour had done.

Hence she wanted to know what was on the royal mind.

He answered by these memorable words, of which he did not mean a jot:

"I intend to make my daughter-in-law very happy and I am afraid that my son will not make her so."

"Why not, sire?"

"Because he looks at other women a good deal, and very seldom at her."

"If any but your majesty said that, I should disbelieve them, for the archduchess is sweetly pretty."

"She might be rounded out more; that Mademoiselle de Taverney is the same age and she has a finer figure. She is perfectly lovely."

Fire flashed in the favorite's eyes and warned the speaker of his blunder.

"Humph," said she, bridling up under the pleased smile, "is the young lady of the Taverney family so very, very fair?"

"I only noticed that she was not a bag of bones. You know I am short-sighted and the general outline alone strikes me. I saw that the new-comer from Austria was not plump, that is all."

"Yes, you must only see generally, for the Austrian is a stylish beauty, and the provincial lady a vulgar one."

"According to this, Jeanne, you would be the vulgar kind," said the monarch. "You are joking, I think."

"That is a compliment, but it is wrapped up in a compliment to another," thought the favorite, and aloud she said: "Faith, I should like the dauphiness to choose a bevy of beauties for maids of honor. A court of old tabbies is frightful."

"You are talking over one won to your side, for I was saying the same thing to the dauphin; but he is indifferent."

"However, she begins well, you think, to take this Taverney girl. She has no money?"

"No, but she has blood. The Taverney Redcastles are a good old house and long-time servants of the realm."

"Who is backing them?"

"Not the Choiseuls, for they would be overfeasted with pensions in that case."

"I beg you not to bring in politics, countess!"

"Is it bringing in politics to say the Choiseuls are blood-sucking the realm?"

"Certainly." And he arose.

An hour after he regained the Grand Trianon palace, happy at having inspired jealousy, though he said to himself, as a Richelieu might do at thirty:

"What a bother these jealous women are!"

Dubarry went into her boudoir, where Chon was impatiently waiting for the news.

"You are having fine success," she exclaimed; "day before yesterday presented to the dauphiness, you dined at her table yesterday."

"That's so—but much good in such nonsense."

"Nonsense, when a hundred fashionable carriages are racing to bring you courtiers?"

"I am vexed, sorry for them, as they will not have any smiles from me this morning. Let me have my chocolate."

"Stormy weather, eh?"

Chon rang and Zamore came in to get the order. He started off so slowly, and humping up his back, that the mistress cried:

"Is that slowcoach going to make me perish of hunger? If he plays the camel and does not hurry, he'll get a hundred lashes on his back."

"Me no hurry—me gubbernor," replied the black boy, majestically.

"You a governor?" screamed the lady, flourishing a fancy riding whip kept to maintain order among the spaniels. "I'll give you a lesson in governing."

But the negro ran out yelling.

"You are quite ferocious, Jeanne," remarked her sister.

"Surely I have the right to be ferocious in my own house?"

"Certainly; but I am going to elope, for fear I may be devoured alive."

Three knocks on the door came to interrupt the outbreak.

"Hang it all—who is bothering now?" cried the countess, stamping her foot.

"He is in for a nice welcome," muttered Chon.

"It will be a good thing if I am badly received," said Jean, as he pushed open the door as widely as though he were a king, "for then I should take myself off and not come again. And you would be the greater loser of the two."

"Saucebox——"

"Because I am not a flatterer. What is the matter with the girl this morning, Chon?"

"She is not safe to go near."

"Oh, here comes the chocolate! Good-morning, Chocolate," said the favorite's brother, taking the platter and putting it on a small table, at which he seated himself. "Come and tuck it in, Chon! those who are too proud won't get any, that's all."

"You are a nice pair," said Jeanne, "gobbling up the bread and butter instead of wondering what worries me."

"Out of cash, I suppose?" said Chon.

"Pooh, the king will run out before I do."

"Then lend me a thousand—I can do with it," said the man.

"You will get a thousand fillips on the nose sooner than a thousand Louis."

"Is the king going to keep that abominable Choiseul?" questioned Chon.

"That is no novelty—you know that they are sticks-in-the-mud."

"Has the old boy fallen in love with the dauphiness?"

"You are getting warm; but look at the glutton, ready to burst with swilling chocolate and will not lift a finger to help me out of my quandary."

"You never mean to say the king has another fancy?" cried Chon, clasping her hands, and turning pale.

"If I did not say so your brother would, for he will either choke with the chocolate or get it out."

Thus adjured, Jean managed to gasp the name:

"Andrea of Taverney!"

"The baron's daughter—oh, mercy!" groaned Chon.

"I do not know what keeps me from tearing his eyes out, the lazybones, to go puffing them up with sleep when our fortunes stagger."

"With want of sleep you mean," returned Jean. "I am sleepy, as I am hungry, for the same reason—I have been running about the streets all night."

"Just like you."

"And all the morning."

"You might have run to some purpose, and found out where that intriguing jade is housed."

"The very thing—I questioned the driver of the carriage lent to them, and he took them to Coq Heron street. They are living in a little house at the back, next door to Armenonville House."

"Jean, Jean, we are good friends again," said the countess. "Gorge as you like. But we must have all the particulars about her, how she lives, who calls on her, and what she is about. Does she get any love letters—these are important to know."

"I have got us started on the right road anyway," said Jean; "suppose you do a little now."

"Excellent idea," said the countess. "You must be off quickly to the place, Jean, and hire a flat there, where a watcher can mark down all her doings."

"No use; there are no rooms to hire there; I inquired; but I can get what we want in the street at the back, overlooking their place, Plastrière Street."

"Well, quick! get a room there."

"I have done that," answered Jean.

Jean wiped his mouth, received the caress and made a ceremonious bow to show that he was duly grateful for the honor.

"I took the little suite for a young widow. Young widow, you, Chon."

"Capital! it shall be Chon who will take the lodgings and keep an eye on what goes on. But you must not lose any time. The coach," cried Dubarry, ringing the bell so loudly that she would have roused all the spellbound servants of the palace of the Sleeping Beauty.

The three knew how highly to rate Andrea, for at her first sight she had excited the king's attention; hence she was dangerous.

"I do not know so much about that," said Jean. "Let us be distrustful. His most Christian majesty is greedy for what is another's property."

Chon departed in the coach, with Jean's promise that he would be her first visitor in the new lodgings. She was in luck, for she had hardly more than taken possession of the rooms, and gone to look out of the window commanding a view of the rear gardens than a young lady came to sit at the summer-house window, with embroidery in her hand.

It was Andrea.

"Fie on the studious person!" sneered Chon.

"What an admirable one!" added Jean. "A perfect being—what arms, what hands! what eyes! lips that would wreck the soul of St. Anthony—oh, the divine feet—and what an ankle in that silk hose?"

"Hold your tongue! this is coming on finely," said Chon. "You are smitten with her, now. This is the drop that fills the bucket."

"It would not be a bad job if it were so, and she returned me the flame a little. It would save our poor sister a lot of worry."

"Let me have the spyglass a while. Yes, she is very handsome, and she must have had a sweetheart out there in the woods. But she is not reading—see, the book slips out of her hand. I tell you, Jean, that she is in a brown study."

"She sleeps, you mean."

"Not with her eyes open—what lovely eyes! This a good glass, Jean—I can almost read in her book."

"What is the book, then?"

Chon was leaning out a little when she suddenly drew back.

"Gracious! look at that head sticking out of the garret window——"

"Gilbert, by Jove! with what burning eyes he is glaring on the Taverney girl!"

"I have it: he is the country gallant of his lady. He has had the notice where she was coming to live in Paris and he has taken a room close to her. A change of dovecote for the turtle-doves."

"Sister, we need not trouble now, for he will do all the watching——"

"For his own gain."

"No, for ours. Let me pass, as I must go and see the chief of police. By Jupiter, what luck we have! But don't you let Philosopher catch a glimpse of you—he would decamp very quick."

"Is this official?"

"Is not that ample—does not the Sun rise in that quarter?"

"It goes down there very often, eh?" and the pair laughed. "But, the compliments apart, I have a service to ask of you."

"Two, if you like."

"Tell me if anything lost in Paris can be found?"

"Yes, whether worthless or very valuable."

"My object of search is not worth much," responded Jean, shaking his head. "Only a young fellow of eighteen, named Gilbert, who was in the service of the Taverneys in Lorraine, but was picked up on the road by my sister Chon. She took him to Luciennes, where he abused the hospitality."

"Stole something?"

"I do not say so, but he took flight in a suspicious manner."

"Have you any clue to his hiding place?"

"I met him at the fountain at the corner of Plastrière Street, where I suppose he is living, and I believe I could lay my hand on the very house."

"All right, I will send a sure agent, who will take him out of it!"

"The fact is, this is a special affair, and I should like you to manage it without a third party."

"Oh, in that case, let me pick out a becoming wig and I am with you."

"I have a carriage below."

"Thank you, I prefer my own; it gets a new coat of paint every month, so as not to betray me."

He had tried on his twentieth peruke when the carriage was waiting at the door.

"There it is, the dirty house," said Jean, pointing in the direction of a dwelling in Plastrière street.

"Whew!" said Sartines, "dash me if I did not suspect this. You are unlucky, for that is the dwelling of Rousseau, of Geneva."

"The scribbler? What does that matter?"

"It matters that Rousseau is a man to be dreaded."

"Pooh! it is not likely my little man will be harbored by a celebrity."

"Why not, as you nicknamed him a philosopher? Birds of a feather—you know——"

"Suppose it is so. Why not put this Rousseau in the Bastille if he is in our way?"

"Well, he would be more in our way there than here. You see the mob likes to throw stones at him, but they would pelt us if he was no longer their target, and they want him for themselves. But let us see into this. Sit back in the carriage."

He referred to a notebook.

"I have it. If your young blade is with Rousseau, when would he have met him?"

"Say, on the sixteenth instant."

"Good! he returned from botanizing in Meudon Wood on the seventeenth with a youth, and this stranger stayed all night under his roof. You are crossed by luck. Give it up or you would have all the philosophers against us in riot."

"Oh, Lord! what will sister Jeanne say?"

"Oh, does the countess want the lad? Why not coax him out, and then we would nab him, anywhere not inside Rousseau's house?"

"You might as well coax a hyena."

"I doubt it is so difficult. All you want is a go-between. Let me see; a prince will not do; better one of these writers, a poet, a philosopher or a bota—stay, I have him!"

"Gilbert?"

"Yes, through a botanist friend of Rousseau's. You know Jussieu?"

"Yes, for the countess lets him prowl in her gardens and rifle them."

"I begin to believe that you shall have your Gilbert, without any noise. Rousseau will hand him over, pinioned, so to say. So you go on making a trap for philosophers, according to a plan I will give you, on vacant ground out Meudon or Marly way. Now, let us be off, as the passengers are beginning to stare at us. Home, coachman!"

"And at setting timepieces in order. Before he handled them, my clocks told the time one after another like wheels of a coach; but he has put them right. In short, the heir to the crown will, I believe, be a good king, a good manager, and a good father of family. I suppose he will be a good father?" he insisted.

"Why, your majesty," said Vauguyon simply, "I consider that as the dauphin has all the germs of good in his bosom, those that constitute that are in the cluster."

"Come, come, my lord," said the sovereign, "let us speak plainly. As you know the dauphin thoroughly, you must know all about his tastes and his passions——"

"Pardon me, sire, but I have extirpated all his passions."

"Confound it all! this is just what I feared!" exclaimed Louis XV., with an energy which made the hearer's wig stand its hairs on end.

"Sire, the Duke of Berri has lived under your august roof with the innocence of the studious youth."

"But the youth is now a married man."

"Sire, as the guide of——"

"Yes, well, I see that you must guide him to the very last."

"Please your majesty."

"This is the way of it. You will go to the dauphin, who is now receiving the final compliments of the gentlemen as the dauphiness is receiving those of the ladies. Get a candle and take your pupil aside. Show him the nuptial chamber which is at the end of a corridor filled with pictures which I have selected as a complete course of the instruction which your lordship omitted——"

"Ah," said the duke, starting at the smile of his master, which would have appeared cynical on any mouth but his, the wittiest in the kingdom.

"At the end of the new corridor, I say, of which here is the key."

Vauguyon took it trembling.

"You will shake your pupil's hand, put the candle into it, wish him good-night, and tell him that it will take twenty minutes to reach the bedroom door, giving a minute to each painting."

"I—I understand."

"That is a good thing."

"Your majesty is good enough to excuse me——"

"I suppose I shall have to, but you were making this end prettily for my family!"

From the window the king could see the candle which passed from the hands of Vauguyon into that of his guileless pupil, go the way up the new gallery, and flicker out.

"The illuminations?" said the princess with a sad smile. "They must have been timely this evening, for did you not notice it was very black weather?"

At this moment the dauphin, who was tired of waiting, thrust his head in at the door, and asked if he might enter. Lady Noailles screamed, for she did not recognize the intruder at first. The dauphiness, worked up into a nervous state by the incidents of the day, seized the duchess' arm in her fright.

"It is I, madame; have no fear," called out the prince.

"But why by that way?" said Lady Noailles.

"Because," explained Louis the King, showing his head at the half-open door, "because the Duke of Vauguyon knows so much Latin, mathematics and geography as to leave room for nothing else."

In presence of the king so untimely arrived, the dauphiness slipped off the couch and stood up in the wrapper, clothed from head to foot like a vestal virgin in her stole.

"Any one can see that she is thin," muttered the king; "what the deuse made Choiseul pick out the skinny chicken among all the pullets of European courts?"

"Your majesty will please to observe that I acted according to the strict etiquette," said the Duchess of Noailles, "the infraction was on my lord the dauphin's part."

"I take it on myself. So, let us leave the children to themselves," said the monarch.

The princess seized the lady's arm with more terror than before.

"Oh, don't go away!" she faltered; "I shall die of shame."

"Sire, the dauphiness begs to be allowed to go to rest without any state," said Lady Noailles.

"The deuce—and does 'Lady Etiquette' herself crave that?"

"Look at the archduchess——"

In fact, Marie Antoinette, standing up, pale and with her rigid arm sustaining her by a chair, resembled a statue of fright, but for the slight chattering of her teeth, and the cold perspiration bedewing her forehead.

"Oh, I should not think of causing the young lady any pain," said Louis XV., as little strict about forms as his father was the other thing. "Let us retire, duchess; besides, the doors have locks."

The dauphin blushed to hear these words of his grandfather, but the lady, though hearing, had not understood.

King Louis XV. embraced his grand-daughter-in-law, and went forth, with Lady Noailles, laughing mockingly and sadly, for those who did not share his merriment.

The other persons had gone out by the other door.

The wedded pair were left alone in silence.

At last the young husband approached his bride with bosom beating rapidly; to his temples, breast and wrist he felt all his repressed blood rushing hotly. But he guessed that his grandfather was behind the door, and the cynical glance still chilled the dauphin, very timid and awkward by nature.

"You are not well, madame," he stammered. "You are very pale, and I think you are trembling."

"I cannot conceal that I am under a spell of agitation; there must be some terrible storm overhead, for I am peculiarly affected by thunderstorms."

Indeed, she shook by spasms as though affected by electrical shocks.

Then an ominous rattling and jingling succeeded the roar; it was the fall of countless shivers of glass out of the window panes on the marble slabs and cornices.

At the same time the gale had opened one of the shutters and banged it to and fro like a wings of a bird of night. Wherever the window had been open and where the glass was shivered the lights were put out.

The prince went over to the window to fasten the broken shutter, but his wife held him back.

"Oh, pray, do not open that window, for the lights will be blown out, and I should die of fright."

He stopped. Through the casement beyond the curtain which he had drawn the tree tops of the park were visible, swayed from side to side as if some unseen giant were waving them by the stems. All the illuminations were extinguished.

Then could be seen on the dark sky still blacker clouds, coming on with a rolling motion like troops of cavalry wrapped in dust.

The pallid prince stood with one hand on the sash-handle. The bride sank on a chair, with a sigh.

"You are very much alarmed, madame?"

"Yes, though your presence supports me. Oh, what a storm! all the pretty lights are put out."

"Yes, it is a southwest wind, always the worst for storms. If it holds out, I do not know how they will be able to set off the fireworks."

"What would be the use of them? Everybody will be out of the gardens in such weather."

"You do not know what our French are when there is a show. They cry for the pyrotechnics, and this is to be superb; the pyrotechnist showed me the sketches. There! look at the first rockets!"

Indeed, brilliant as long fiery serpents, the trial rockets rushed up into the clouds, but at the same time, as if the storm had taken the flash as a challenge, one stroke of lightning, seeming to split the sky, snaked among the rockets ascending and eclipsed their red glare with its bluish flaring.

"Verily, it is impiety for man to contest with God," said the archduchess.

The trial rockets had preceded the general display by but a few minutes as the pyrotechnist felt the need of hastening, and the first set pieces were fired and were hailed with a cheer of delight.

In like manner to the wind putting out the illuminations, the rain put out the fireworks.

"What a misfortune, the fireworks are spoilt," said the dauphin.

"Alas, everything goes wrong since I entered France," said Marie Antoinette. "This storm suits the feast that was given me. It was wanted to hide from the people the miseries of this dilapidated palace of Versailles. So, blow, you southwest wind! spout, rain! pile yourselves together, tempestuous clouds, to hide from my eyes the paltry, tawdry reception given to the daughter of the kaisers, when she laid her hand in that of the future king!"

The visibly embarrassed dauphin did not know what answer to make to this, these reproaches, and particularly this exalted melancholy, so far from his character; he only sighed.

A fresh gust, worse than the first, shook the palace. The princess started up aghast.

"Oh, heavens, tell me that there is no danger!" she moaned; "I shall die of fright."

"There is no fear, madame. Versailles is built on terraces so as to defy the storm. If lightning fell it would only strike yonder chapel with its sharp roof, or the little tower which has turrets. You know that peaks attract the electric fluid and flat surfaces repel them."

He took her frozen yet palpitating hand.

Just then a vivid flash inundated the room with its violet and livid glare. She uttered a scream and repulsed her husband.

"Oh, you looked in the lurid gleam like a phantom, pale, headless and bleeding!"

But a deafening peal of thunder cut short the sentence of the phlegmatic prince lecturing the royal spouse.

"Come, come, madame, let us leave such fears to the common people. Physical agitation is one of the conditions of nature. A storm, and this is no more, is one of the most frequent and natural phenomena. I do not know why people are surprised at them."

"I should not quail so much at another time; but for a storm to burst on our wedding-night, another awful forwarning joined to those heralding my entry into France! My mother has told me that this century is fraught with horrors, as the heavens above are charged with fire and destruction."

"Madame, no dangers can menace the throne to which we shall ascend, for we royalties dwell above the common plane. The thunder is at our feet and we wield the bolts."

"Alas, something dreadful was predicted me, or rather, shown to me in a dish of water. It is hard to describe what was utterly novel to me; a machine reared on high like a scaffold, two upright beams between which glided an axe of odd shape. I saw my head beneath this blade. It descended and my head, severed from the body, leaped to the earth. This is what I was shown."

"Pure hallucination," said the scoffer; "there is no such an instrument in existence, so be encouraged."

"Alas! I cannot drive away the odious thought."

"You will succeed, Marie," said the dauphin, drawing nearer.

"Beside you will be an affectionate and assiduously protective husband."

At the instant when the husband's lips nearly touched the wife's cheek, the picture gallery door opened again, and the curious, covetous look of King Louis XV. penetrated the place. But simultaneously a crash, of which no words can give an idea, resounded through the palace. A spout of white flame, streaked with green, dashed past the widow but shivered a statue on the balcony; then after a prodigious ripping and splitting sound, it bounded upward and vanished like a meteor.

Out went the candles! the dauphin staggered back, dazed and frightened to the very wall. The dauphiness fell, half swooned, on the step of her praying-desk and dwelt in deadly torpor.

Believing the earth was quaking under him, Louis XV. regained his rooms, followed by his faithful valet.

In the morning Versailles was not recognizable. The ground had drunk up the deluge, and the trees absorbed the sulphur.

Everywhere was mud and the broken boughs dragging their blackened lengths like scotched serpents.

Louis XV. went to the bridal chamber for the third time, and looked in. He shuddered to see at the praying-stand the bride, pale and prone, with the aurora tinging her spotless robe, like a Magdalen of Rubens.

On a chair, with his velvet slippers in a puddle of water, the dauphin of France sat as pale as his wife and with the same air of having faced a nightmare.

The nuptial bed was untouched.

Louis XV. frowned; a never-before-experienced pain ran through his brow, cooled by egotism even when debauchery tried to heat it.

He shook his head, sighed and returned to his apartments full of grim forebodings over the future which this tragic event had marked on its brow.

What dread and mysterious incidents were enfolded in its bosom it will be our mission to disclose in the sequel to this book, entitled "The Mesmerist's Victim."

A BOOK FOR EVERY FAMILY.

How to Live Well      
      On 25 Cents a Day.

By MRS. GESINE LEMCKE,
One of the Most Noted Cooks and Housekeepers of the Day.

It contains a complete bill of fare for every day for six weeks, also valuable hints and helps for housekeepers.

The Philadelphia Call says of it:

"Utopia discovered! Everybody happy and want absolutely abolished. Hats off to Mrs. Lemcke! Whether this volume accomplishes its purpose or not is immaterial. It is stuffed full of just the sort of information that is good for young housekeepers and should be widely read, and is worth $1.00 to any family."

This book is for sale by all dealers, or it will be sent by mail, post-paid, on receipt of 25 cents, by J. S. Ogilvie Publishing Company, 57 Rose Street, New York.

TERMS TO AGENTS.

Sample Copy by mail, postpaid, 15 Cents.

The above prices do not include freight or express charges. Terms cash with order. Address,

J. S. OGILVIE PUBLISHING CO.,
57 Rose Street, New York.