Free The Hurlyburly's Husband by Jean Teulé Page A

him.
    ‘Don’t go to war. If all goes as I hope, I assure you that through my good offices I will make His Majesty forget your uncle’s indiscretions and you, too, shall have your place at court. Let me act, this time.’
    ‘No, Athénaïs, the King must notice me on the battlefield! If he does not see me, I quite simply do not exist. When he declares in speaking of someone, “I do not know him, he is a man I never see,” it means that he is nothing. The monarch’s smile is life, his silence is death … But when one spends one’s time robbing Peter to pay Paul, where is one to find money enough for a company of eighty-four well-mounted soldiers, in addition to the equipage of valets, and thirty horses and mules?’
    Around her neck the marquise was wearing an emerald necklace, which she now unfastened. ‘Sell my necklace. A pawnbroker on Rue des Anglais told me it was worth fifteen hundred livres . This will enable you to outfit a few soldiers.’
    ‘But – and you? You are going to Saint-Germain-en-Laye…’
    ‘And so? I will go bare-necked.’
    ‘Ah, true love …’ Constance Abraham said with a sigh.
    Marie-Christine put her arms round her mother’s knees. The child pulled on the back of the pale-pink dress, accentuating the curve of the marquise’s bottom, the narrowness of her waist, the shape of her thighs … it was as if she were naked. The apprentices leaning over the railing in the mezzanine stood open-mouthed. They watched from above as she called out , ‘Farewell, gentlemen! I shan’t be back for several days. The Duchesse de Montausier will accommodate me in her chateau and lend me some gowns. I must fly! I would not want to miss the coach for Saint-Germain! Monsieur de Montespan, I entrust you with our children. As for you, my little girl … Grrr … oh, oh, oh! … Frrr …’
    Marie-Christine ran off. Her mother turned round and lifted her arms high in the air. Her breasts, on rising, spilt over the top of her bodice, revealing her nipples. It was too much. The apprentices, in pairs, grabbed each other from behind in a frenzy as they stood by the railing. They stuck out their tongues like madmen. Joseph Abraham, who had noticed, took a rod and climbed up to the mezzanine, banging on the steps as he went.
    ‘Stop it, you’re like rutting dogs!’

11.
    The Montespans’ servant Dorothée, who was now eleven years of age, and already rather stooped and timid, was pouring water flavoured with eucalyptus leaf onto Louis-Henri’s fingers. The marquis wiped his hands on the tablecloth of the gaming table, then lifted a pewter spoon to his lips. Madame Larivière stood next to him, hands on hips, and enquired, ‘What do you think of the soup? Can you taste the lemon – I mixed the juice with some egg yolks and verjuice.’
    ‘Yes, it’s very good.’
    ‘Next you shall have a salad of hop sprouts, and for dessert, “vilaines d’Anjou” pears. And I’ve filled a jug with Cahors wine.’
    ‘Thank you, Madame Larivière.’
    Montespan, whilst eating, was reading the foreign affairs page in the Mercure Galant , which lay next to his plate, when the door to the salon opened. A beam of light entered. He raised his eyes and his face lit up.
    ‘Hogs’ swill! Where have you been these ten days?’
    ‘Have you heard how he speaks to me, a lady-in-waiting to Her Majesty the Queen of France?’
    ‘You’re not!’ The marquis bounded out of his chair and opened his arms to receive his wife’s urgent embrace. Their daughter, sitting by the fireplace, ran to her mother’s legs. The collision of the three bodies gave off a cloud of golden dust in the sunbeam coming through the window, and a shower of stars slowly drifted onto the cradle where Louis-Antoine was sleeping.
    ‘I am so happy for you!’ cried the loving husband, then planted his mouth full on his wife’s own.
    Madame Larivière looked away. Louis-Henri’s big hands grabbed Athénaïs’s buttocks. The cook, with a jerk of her