The Baroque Cycle - The Confusion Part 10

"Ah, very well," etienne sighed. "As long as it is understood that I am not being driven driven from here by what from here by what some some perceive as its discomforts and inconveniences-" and here he paused for a moment to glare at several Gentlemen of the Bedchamber and other members of his household, who were fortunate enough to be hidden in darkness "-but, as it were, fleeing in terror of the prospect that my conduct is, in the eyes of my mother, other than perfect." perceive as its discomforts and inconveniences-" and here he paused for a moment to glare at several Gentlemen of the Bedchamber and other members of his household, who were fortunate enough to be hidden in darkness "-but, as it were, fleeing in terror of the prospect that my conduct is, in the eyes of my mother, other than perfect."

Which was somehow construed as a direct order by his staff; for suddenly, hay-piles were detonating as liveried servants, who had burrowed into them for warmth, leapt to action. Great doors were dragged open, letting in awful fanfares of blue snow-light, and illuminating a gilded carriage, and diverse baggage-wains, that had been backed into nearby stalls.

etienne d'Arcachon s.h.i.+elded his eyes with one hand, "Not from the light, which is nothing, but from your beauty, which is almost too great for a mortal man to gaze upon."

"Thank you, monsieur," said Eliza, s.h.i.+elding her own eyes, which were rolling.

"Pray, where is this orphan that some say you rescued from the clutches of the Heretics?"

"He is at La Dunette," said Eliza, "interviewing a prospective wet-nurse."

THE QUILL SWIRLED and lunged over the page in a slow but relentless three-steps-forward, two-steps-back sort of process, and finally came to a full stop in a tiny pool of its own ink. Then Louis Phelypeaux, first comte de Pontchartrain, raised the nib; let it hover for an instant, as if gathering his forces; and hurled it backwards along the sentence, tiptoeing over i's, slas.h.i.+ng through t's and x's, nearly tripping over an umlaut, building speed and confidence while veering through a slalom-course of acute and grave accents, pirouetting though cedillas and carving vicious snap-turns through circ.u.mflexes. It was like watching the world's greatest fencing-master dispatch twenty opponents with a single continuous series of maneuvers. He drew his hand up with great care, lest his lace cuff drag in the ink; it inflated for a moment as it s.n.a.t.c.hed a handful of air, then flopped down over his hand, covering all but the fingertips that pinched the pen, and giving them an opportunity to warm up. Twin jets of steam unfurled from Pontchartrain's cavernous elliptical nostrils as he re-read the doc.u.ment. Eliza realized she'd stopped breathing, and released her own cloud of steam. As she emptied her lungs, her dress hugged her suddenly around the waist while relaxing its grip on her thorax. Some milk leaked out of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, but she had antic.i.p.ated this, and swathed herself in cotton. It was most unusual for a virgin, who had merely adopted an orphan, to lactate. She smelled like a dairy. But the room was so cold that no one could smell anything but dust and ice. and lunged over the page in a slow but relentless three-steps-forward, two-steps-back sort of process, and finally came to a full stop in a tiny pool of its own ink. Then Louis Phelypeaux, first comte de Pontchartrain, raised the nib; let it hover for an instant, as if gathering his forces; and hurled it backwards along the sentence, tiptoeing over i's, slas.h.i.+ng through t's and x's, nearly tripping over an umlaut, building speed and confidence while veering through a slalom-course of acute and grave accents, pirouetting though cedillas and carving vicious snap-turns through circ.u.mflexes. It was like watching the world's greatest fencing-master dispatch twenty opponents with a single continuous series of maneuvers. He drew his hand up with great care, lest his lace cuff drag in the ink; it inflated for a moment as it s.n.a.t.c.hed a handful of air, then flopped down over his hand, covering all but the fingertips that pinched the pen, and giving them an opportunity to warm up. Twin jets of steam unfurled from Pontchartrain's cavernous elliptical nostrils as he re-read the doc.u.ment. Eliza realized she'd stopped breathing, and released her own cloud of steam. As she emptied her lungs, her dress hugged her suddenly around the waist while relaxing its grip on her thorax. Some milk leaked out of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, but she had antic.i.p.ated this, and swathed herself in cotton. It was most unusual for a virgin, who had merely adopted an orphan, to lactate. She smelled like a dairy. But the room was so cold that no one could smell anything but dust and ice.

"If you would, my lady, verify that I have not erred in setting down the princ.i.p.al." He withdrew his left hand from its warm haven between his thighs and gave the page a one-hundred-and-eighty-degree rotation. Eliza stepped forward, trying not to push a vast front of milk-scent before her, and rested her hands on the marble tabletop, then drew them back, for the stone jerked the warmth from her flesh. Her arms were tired. Walking here through the corridors of the palace, she had had to lift up her skirts-heavy winter stuff-lest they drag in the human t.u.r.ds that littered the marble floors. Most of these were frozen solid, but a few were not, and in the dim galleries she could not see the steam rising from these until it was too late.

Those corridors, and the divided, subdivided, and sub-sub-divided apartments that crowded in on them, were Versailles as it was. was. The wing where Monsieur le comte de Pontchartrain, The wing where Monsieur le comte de Pontchartrain, controleur-general, controleur-general, had his offices, were Versailles as it was had his offices, were Versailles as it was meant to be, meant to be, meaning that the rooms were s.p.a.cious, the windows many and large, the floors t.u.r.d-free. Pontchartrain sat at a table with his back to an arched window that looked out over the gardens. His bony ankles, protected only by silk stockings, were crossed, like a pair of sticks being rubbed together. The sun was on his back. His periwig cast an Alp-like shadow across the table, and the doc.u.ment. The amount of money that Jean Bart's corsairs had taken from Eliza, and that she was loaning to the Treasury, was written out on the page, not in numerals but in words; and so large was the amount that, fully expressed to all of its significant digits, it spread across three lines of the doc.u.ment, and had forced the Count to dip his quill twice. It was like a chapter of the Bible; and as she read it, her mind was invaded by any number of memories of the deals she had arranged, the people she had met, the nights she had gone without sleep as she had acc.u.mulated this fortune. These recollections, which were of no utility to her now, and which she did not desire, simply leaked out. Milk was leaking out of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, she could feel a leaky period coming on, she'd been suffering loose stools, she needed to urinate, and if she kept thinking about these things any more, tears would leak from her eyes. She had a pa.s.sing phant'sy that she ought to go round and fetch Jean Bart from whatever salon he was regaling with corsair-tales, and put his nautical mind together with that of some corset-maker, and get them to invent some garment, some system of stays, laces, rigging, las.h.i.+ngs, and caulk that would wholly encase body and head, and keep all unwelcome fluids and memories where they belonged. meaning that the rooms were s.p.a.cious, the windows many and large, the floors t.u.r.d-free. Pontchartrain sat at a table with his back to an arched window that looked out over the gardens. His bony ankles, protected only by silk stockings, were crossed, like a pair of sticks being rubbed together. The sun was on his back. His periwig cast an Alp-like shadow across the table, and the doc.u.ment. The amount of money that Jean Bart's corsairs had taken from Eliza, and that she was loaning to the Treasury, was written out on the page, not in numerals but in words; and so large was the amount that, fully expressed to all of its significant digits, it spread across three lines of the doc.u.ment, and had forced the Count to dip his quill twice. It was like a chapter of the Bible; and as she read it, her mind was invaded by any number of memories of the deals she had arranged, the people she had met, the nights she had gone without sleep as she had acc.u.mulated this fortune. These recollections, which were of no utility to her now, and which she did not desire, simply leaked out. Milk was leaking out of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, she could feel a leaky period coming on, she'd been suffering loose stools, she needed to urinate, and if she kept thinking about these things any more, tears would leak from her eyes. She had a pa.s.sing phant'sy that she ought to go round and fetch Jean Bart from whatever salon he was regaling with corsair-tales, and put his nautical mind together with that of some corset-maker, and get them to invent some garment, some system of stays, laces, rigging, las.h.i.+ngs, and caulk that would wholly encase body and head, and keep all unwelcome fluids and memories where they belonged.

But it was not available just now. She felt the warmth of the sun on her face; or maybe that was the gaze of the controleur-general. controleur-general. "The amount is correct," she announced, and hitched up her skirts in the rear with her cold hands and tired arms, and stepped back until her face was protected in shadow. "The amount is correct," she announced, and hitched up her skirts in the rear with her cold hands and tired arms, and stepped back until her face was protected in shadow.

"Very well," said the Count in a gentle voice, like a kindly physician, and rotated his large brown eyes toward an aide, who for the last several minutes had been edging closer and closer to a fireplace at the other end of the room. Pontchartrain dipped his quill, set it to the page, and executed a lengthy series of evolutions, moving his arm from the shoulder. A vast mazy PONTCHARTRAIN took shape at the base of the page. The aide bent forward and countersigned.

Pontchartrain rose. "I hoped that my lady would consent to join me for some refreshment, while..." and he glanced at the aide, who had moved into the Count's place at the table and was busying himself with a panoply of wax-pots, ribbons, seals, and other gear.

"I would gladly do so, or eat rocks, for that matter, if it is to happen near the fireplace."

The Count offered the Countess his arm and together they glided to the pagan spectacle that answered to the name of fireplace here. Two chairs had been set out; both were armchairs, for the guest and the host were of equal rank. He got her settled in one of them, then picked up a log with his own two hands and threw it onto the fire; not a wholly normal thing for a Count to do, and presumably a coded gesture, meant to convey to Eliza that the Count did not mean to stand on ceremony. He dusted his hands together and then polished them with a lace handkerchief as he sat down. A maid shuffled forward on cold and unresponsive feet, worried her hands out of her sleeves, and poured coffee, sending up gales of steam.

"You've been doing a lot of these, my lord?" Eliza asked, looking over at the table, where the sealing process was just entering its opening rounds.

"Rarely for such amounts. Never for such a charming creditor, my lady. But yes, many Persons of Quality have followed the King's example, and lent idle a.s.sets to the Treasury, where they may be put to work."

"You will be gratified to know that those a.s.sets have been working very hard indeed along the Channel," Eliza said. "Any English s.h.i.+p of Force that dares sail that way stares up into many new guns, protected by new revetments, fed by powder-houses linked by excellent roads that were only cow-paths when his majesty added those lands to France."

"It pleases me very much to hear this!" exclaimed the Count, crinkling up his eyes and rocking forward in his chair. Eliza was startled to see that he was entirely sincere; then wondered why it was so startling.

The Count's face began to sag as he looked at Eliza's and saw nothing there. "Please forgive me if I am...inappropriately subdued," she said, "it is just that I have been traveling for some time. And now that I am finally here, there is so much to do!"

"Soon all that will be behind you, my lady, and you can enjoy the season! You should get some rest. This soiree soiree that Madame la d.u.c.h.esse d'Arcachon is hosting tomorrow..." that Madame la d.u.c.h.esse d'Arcachon is hosting tomorrow..."

"Yes. I do do need to conserve my energies, if I am to remain awake for even one-third of need to conserve my energies, if I am to remain awake for even one-third of that. that."

"I do hope that when you have recovered from the journey, my lady, we shall have more opportunities to converse. As you know, I am rather new to the post of controleur-general. controleur-general. I accepted the position gladly, of course...but now that I have had a few months to settle in, I find that it is far more interesting than I had ever imagined." I accepted the position gladly, of course...but now that I have had a few months to settle in, I find that it is far more interesting than I had ever imagined."

"Everyone imagines it to be interesting in a imagines it to be interesting in a financial financial sense," said Eliza. sense," said Eliza.

"Of course," said Pontchartrain, sharing her amus.e.m.e.nt. "But I did not mean it that way."

"Of course not, monsieur, for you are an intelligent man, not motivated by money-which is one of the reasons his majesty chose you! But now that you are here, you find it fascinating intellectually. intellectually."

"Indeed, my lady. But you are one of the very few at Versailles who can understand this."

"Hence your desire to carry the conversation forward. Yes, I understand."

Pontchartrain dropped his eyelids and inclined his head minutely, then opened his eyes again-they were large and handsome-and smiled at her.

"Do you know Bonaventure Rossignol, my lord?"

The smile faltered. "I know of of him, my lady, but-" him, my lady, but-"

"He is another fish out of water."

"He does not even live here, does he?"

"He lives at Juvisy. But he will be at La Dunette tomorrow. As will you, I trust?"

"Madame la d.u.c.h.esse has honored us with an invitation. Neither of us would miss it for anything."

"Seek me out there, monsieur. I shall introduce you to Monsieur Rossignol, and we shall found a new salon, salon, restricted to people who love numbers more than money." restricted to people who love numbers more than money."

"AH, HERE COMES OUR CHAPERONE at last!" at last!"

"Our chaperone chaperone!?"

"But of course, Monsieur Rossignol. Madame la d.u.c.h.esse will join us. Otherwise people would talk! And look, Monsieur le comte de Pontchartrain is coming as well! I have wanted to introduce you to him."

This name was sufficient to make Rossignol turn his head, or want to. But the head was encased in a wig that cascaded over his shoulders, over which he had draped a heavy wool blanket, rendering independent movement of head and torso inadvisable. He rose to his feet, triggering small avalanches-for he and Eliza had been waiting in this open sleigh long enough for drifts to form in their laps. As he tottered around to get a view of the garden entrance of La Dunette, he reminded Eliza of a club balanced on a juggler's palm. He had much in common physically with Pontchartrain; but where the Count's eyes were warm and brown, Rossignol's were hot and black. And not hot in a pa.s.sionate way, unless you counted his pa.s.sion for his work. name was sufficient to make Rossignol turn his head, or want to. But the head was encased in a wig that cascaded over his shoulders, over which he had draped a heavy wool blanket, rendering independent movement of head and torso inadvisable. He rose to his feet, triggering small avalanches-for he and Eliza had been waiting in this open sleigh long enough for drifts to form in their laps. As he tottered around to get a view of the garden entrance of La Dunette, he reminded Eliza of a club balanced on a juggler's palm. He had much in common physically with Pontchartrain; but where the Count's eyes were warm and brown, Rossignol's were hot and black. And not hot in a pa.s.sionate way, unless you counted his pa.s.sion for his work.

A recorder arpeggio-some fragment of a minuet-leaked out of the doors for a moment as servants pulled them open. Pontchartrain stepped out, looked up, and blinked at the falling snow, then pirouetted towards his hostess, who had fallen behind, and was shooing him forward in violation of all rules of precedence. An aurora of red silk bloomed around her as she drew out a scarf and allowed it to settle atop her wig. With fingers slowed by cold, fat, and arthritis, she knotted it under a chin, then accepted Pontchartrain's proffered arm and stepped out into the frozen garden with more gingerness than was really warranted. The gravel paths near the chateau had been swept clear of snow; the sleigh was stopped a stone's throw away, on a track that wandered off into the Duke's hunting-park. Party-goers surged to the door and the fogged windows to bid the d.u.c.h.ess farewell, as if she were sailing to Surinam, and not just going on a quarter of an hour's sleigh-ride on her own property.

Rossignol rotated back around to gaze at Eliza. There was no point in sitting, as he'd just have to stand up again when the d.u.c.h.ess and the Count arrived.

"Monsieur Rossignol," said Eliza, "every child knows that the juice of a lime, or a bit of diluted milk, may be used to write secret messages in invisible ink, which may later be made to appear by scorching it before hot coals. When you stare at me in this way, it is as if you phant'sy that some message has been writ upon my face in milk, which you may make visible by the heat of your scrutiny. I beg you remember that more often than not the procedure goes awry, and the paper itself catches fire."

"I cannot help that G.o.d made me the way I am."

"Granted; but I beg you. Monsieur le comte d'Avaux, and Father edouard de Gex, have given me enough of such glares, in the last few days, to raise blisters on my brow. From you, monsieur, I should be grateful for a warm, warm, rather than rather than hot, hot, regard." regard."

"It is obvious enough that you are flirting with me."

"Flirtation is customarily customarily more or less obvious, monsieur, but you do not have to more or less obvious, monsieur, but you do not have to mention mention it!" it!"

"You invited me on a sleigh-ride, and led me to think it would be you and me alone together-'it shall be never so cold, Bon-bon, and I shall freeze to death if I do not have anyone to share my blanket with'-and then we waited, and waited, and now it is obvious that I shall be sharing my blanket with a Count, or a Dowager. It is a little etude in cruelty. I observe such all the time in people's love-letters. I understand this. But it would be very foolish of you, my lady, to believe that you shall achieve some power over me by playing such girlish games."

Eliza laughed. "Never crossed my mind." She lunged forward, spun around, and took the seat next to Rossignol. He looked down at her, startled. "Why not?" Eliza said, "as long as we are chaperoned."

"Flirting with you without result is more interesting than doing nothing," Rossignol insisted, "but since our adventure, you really have paid me very little attention. I think it is because you got into some trouble you could not get out of by your own wits, and so became indebted to me in a way; which you chafe at."

"We will speak of chafing later," said Eliza, and then actually batted her snow-laden eyelashes at him. She patted the seat next to her.

"I must greet the Count and the-" but he was cut short as Eliza grabbed the back of his breeches and jerked down hard. She had only meant to force him to sit down; but to her shock she all but depantsed him, and would have stripped him naked to the knees had he not sat down violently. Like a bullfighter wielding the cape, she heaved the blanket over his lap just in time to hide all from the Count and the d.u.c.h.ess, who looked their way at the sudden movement.

"You must put some meat on your hips, otherwise what is the point of wearing a belt?" she whispered.

"Mademoiselle! I must stand up must stand up for the Count and the-" for the Count and the-"

"Dowager, is that what you called her? She is no dowager, her husband is alive and well, and tending to the King's affairs in the South. Don't worry, I shall fix it." She leaned against Rossignol's shoulder and raised her voice: "Madame la d.u.c.h.esse, Monsieur le comte, Monsieur Rossignol is mortified, for he would stand up to greet you; but I won't let him move. For his slender frame makes as much heat as a coal-stove, which is the only thing keeping me alive."

"Sit, sit!" insisted the d.u.c.h.ess of Arcachon. "Monsieur, you are like my son, too polite for your own good!" She had reached sleigh-side. Three stable-hands converged, and helped Pontchartrain help her into the sleigh. She was a big woman, and when she threw her weight on the bench, facing Eliza and Rossignol, the runners broke loose on the snow and the sleigh moved backwards a few inches. All three of the occupants whooped: the d.u.c.h.ess because she was alarmed, Eliza because it was amusing, and Bonaventure Rossignol because Eliza, under the blanket, had shoved her cold hand into his drawers and seized hold of his p.e.n.i.s as if it were a lifeline. Presently the Count took a seat next to the d.u.c.h.ess. The horses-a team of two matched albinos-nearly bolted, so cold and impatient were they, and there was harsh language from the driver. But then they settled into a trot. The four pa.s.sengers waved at the crowd inside, who'd been mopping steam off the windowpanes with their handkerchiefs. Eliza waved with one hand only. After an initial shrinkage, Rossignol had come erect so fast that she was worried about his health. He had squirmed and glared, but only until he recognized that the situation was perfectly hopeless; now he sat very still, listening to the d.u.c.h.ess, or pretending to.

She was matronly, decent, and genuinely popular: the living embodiment of the traditional Lavardac virtues of simple sincere loyalty to King and Church, in that order, without all of the scheming. In other words, she was just what a hereditary n.o.ble was supposed supposed to be; which made her both an a.s.set and a liability to the King. By supporting him blindly, and always doing the right thing, she made of her family a bulwark to his reign. But by exhibiting genuine n.o.bility, she was implicitly making a strong case for the entire idea of a hereditary peerage with much power and responsibility, and making the new arrivals-Eliza included-seem like conniving arrivistes by comparison. Sitting in the d.u.c.h.ess's sleigh and firmly ma.s.saging the erect p.e.n.i.s of the King's crypta.n.a.lyst, Eliza had to admit the validity of this point; but she admitted it to be; which made her both an a.s.set and a liability to the King. By supporting him blindly, and always doing the right thing, she made of her family a bulwark to his reign. But by exhibiting genuine n.o.bility, she was implicitly making a strong case for the entire idea of a hereditary peerage with much power and responsibility, and making the new arrivals-Eliza included-seem like conniving arrivistes by comparison. Sitting in the d.u.c.h.ess's sleigh and firmly ma.s.saging the erect p.e.n.i.s of the King's crypta.n.a.lyst, Eliza had to admit the validity of this point; but she admitted it to herself. to herself. She had no choice but to make do with what she had-which at the moment was nothing at all, except for a handful of Rossignol. She still did not have more than a few coins to her name. She had no choice but to make do with what she had-which at the moment was nothing at all, except for a handful of Rossignol. She still did not have more than a few coins to her name.

The sleigh moved briskly on the trail, which had been groomed in advance of the party. In a few moments they pa.s.sed out of the formal garden and into a huddle of buildings that was concealed from view of La Dunette's windows by adroit landscaping. The scent of manure from the hunting-stable of Louis-Francois de Lavardac d'Arcachon was driven away suddenly by a cloud of lavender-scented steam, surging from the open side of a shed where a servant was stirring a vat over a great smoky fire.

"You make your own soap here?" Eliza said. "The fragrance is wonderful."

"Of course we do, mademoiselle!" said the d.u.c.h.ess, astonished by the fact that Eliza found this worthy of mention. Then something occurred to her: "You should use it."

"I already impose on your hospitality too much, my lady. Paris is so well-supplied with parfumiers and soap-makers, I am happy to go there and-"

"Oh, no!" exclaimed the d.u.c.h.ess. "You must never buy soap in Paris-from strangers! Especially with the orphan to think of!"

"As you know, my lady, little Jean-Jacques is now in the care of the Jesuit fathers. They make their own soap, probably-"

"As they had better!" said the d.u.c.h.ess. "But you bring clothes to him sometimes. You will have them laundered here, in my soap."

Eliza did not really care, and was happy to give her a.s.sent, since the d.u.c.h.ess of Arcachon was so firm on this point; if she hesitated for a moment, it was only because she was a bit nonplussed.

"You should use the d.u.c.h.ess's soap, mademoiselle," said Pontchartrain firmly.

"Indeed!" said Rossignol-who, given the circ.u.mstances, would probably be speaking in one-word sentences for a while.

"I accept your soap with all due grat.i.tude, madame," said Eliza.

"My laundresses do not wear gloves!" huffed the d.u.c.h.ess, as if she had been challenged on some point. This rather dampened conversation for some moments. They had pa.s.sed clear of the out-buildings, and circ.u.mvented a paddock where the Duke's hunting-mounts were exercised in better weather, and entered now into a wooded game-park, bony and bare under twilight. Pontchartrain opened the shades on a pair of carriage-lanterns that dangled above the corners of the benches, and presently they were gliding along through the dim woods in a little halo of lamplight. In a few moments they came to a stone wall that cut the forest in twain. It was pierced by a gate, which stood open, and which was guarded, in name anyway, by half a dozen musketeers, who were standing around a fire. The wall was twenty-six miles long. The gate was one of twenty-two. Pa.s.sing through it, they entered the laundresses do not wear gloves!" huffed the d.u.c.h.ess, as if she had been challenged on some point. This rather dampened conversation for some moments. They had pa.s.sed clear of the out-buildings, and circ.u.mvented a paddock where the Duke's hunting-mounts were exercised in better weather, and entered now into a wooded game-park, bony and bare under twilight. Pontchartrain opened the shades on a pair of carriage-lanterns that dangled above the corners of the benches, and presently they were gliding along through the dim woods in a little halo of lamplight. In a few moments they came to a stone wall that cut the forest in twain. It was pierced by a gate, which stood open, and which was guarded, in name anyway, by half a dozen musketeers, who were standing around a fire. The wall was twenty-six miles long. The gate was one of twenty-two. Pa.s.sing through it, they entered the Grand Parc, Grand Parc, the hunting-grounds of the King. the hunting-grounds of the King.

The d.u.c.h.ess seemed to regret the matter of the soap, and now suddenly worked herself up into a lather of good cheer.

"Mademoiselle la comtesse de la Zeur has said she will start a salon salon at La Dunette! I have told her, I do not know how such a thing is done! For I am just a foolish old hen, and not one for clever discourse! But she has a.s.sured me, one need only invite a few men who are as clever as Monsieur Rossignol and Monsieur le comte de Pontchartrain, and then it just- at La Dunette! I have told her, I do not know how such a thing is done! For I am just a foolish old hen, and not one for clever discourse! But she has a.s.sured me, one need only invite a few men who are as clever as Monsieur Rossignol and Monsieur le comte de Pontchartrain, and then it just-happens!"

Pontchartrain smiled. "Madame la d.u.c.h.esse, you would have me and Monsieur Rossignol believe that when two such ladies as you and the Countess are together in private, you have nothing better to do than talk about us us?"

The d.u.c.h.ess was taken aback for a moment, then whooped. "Monsieur, you tease me!"

Eliza gave Rossignol an especially hard squeeze, and he s.h.i.+fted uneasily.

"So far, it does not seem to be happening, happening, for Monsieur Rossignol is so quiet!" observed the d.u.c.h.ess in a rare for Monsieur Rossignol is so quiet!" observed the d.u.c.h.ess in a rare faux pas; faux pas; for she should have known that the way to make a quiet person join the conversation is for she should have known that the way to make a quiet person join the conversation is not not to point out that he is being quiet. to point out that he is being quiet.

"Before you joined us, madame, he was telling me that he has been wrestling with a most difficult decypherment-a new code, the most difficult yet, that is being used by the Duke of Savoy to communicate with his confederates in the north. He is distracted-in another world."

"On the contrary," said Rossignol, "I am quite capable of talking, as long as you do not ask me to compute square roots in my head, or something."

"I don't know what that is but it sounds frightfully difficult!" exclaimed the d.u.c.h.ess.

"I'll not ask you to do any such thing, monsieur," said Pontchartrain, "but some day when you are not not so engaged-perhaps at the Countess's so engaged-perhaps at the Countess's salon salon-I should like to speak to you of what I do. You might know that Colbert, some years ago, paid the German savant Leibniz to build a machine that would do arithmetic. He was going to use this machine in the management of the King's finances. Leibniz delivered the machine eventually, but he had in the meantime become distracted by other problems, and now, of course, he serves at the court of Hanover, and so has become an enemy of France. But the precedent is noteworthy: putting mathematical genius to work in the realm of finance."

"Indeed, it is interesting," allowed Rossignol, "though the King keeps me very busy at cyphers."

"What sorts of problems did you have in mind, monsieur?" Eliza asked.

"What I am going to tell you is a secret, and should not leave this sleigh," Pontchartrain began.

"Fear not, monseigneur; is any thought more absurd than that one of us might be a foreign spy?" Rossignol asked, and was rewarded by the sensation of four sharp fingernails closing in around his s.c.r.o.t.u.m.

"Oh, it is not foreign spies I am concerned about in this case, but domestic speculators," said the Count.

"Then it is even more safe; for I've nothing to speculate with, with," said Eliza.

"I am going to call in all of the gold and silver coins," said Pontchartrain.

"All of them? All of them in the entire country!?" exclaimed the d.u.c.h.ess. of them? All of them in the entire country!?" exclaimed the d.u.c.h.ess.

"Indeed, my lady. We will mint new gold and silver louis, louis, and exchange them for the old." and exchange them for the old."

"Heavens! What is the point of doing it, then?"

"The new ones will be worth more, madame."

"You mean that they will contain more gold, or silver?" Eliza asked.

Pontchartrain gave her a patient smile. "No, mademoiselle. They will have precisely the same amount of gold or silver as the ones we use now-but they will be worth more, and so to obtain, say, nine and so to obtain, say, nine louis d'or louis d'or of the new coin, one will have to pay the Treasury ten of the old." of the new coin, one will have to pay the Treasury ten of the old."

"How can you say that the same coin same coin is now worth is now worth more more?"

"How can we say that it is worth what it is now now?" Pontchartrain threw up his hands as if to catch snowflakes. "The coins have a face value, fixed by royal decree. A new decree, a new value."

"I understand. But it sounds like a scheme to make something out of nothing-a perpetual motion machine. Somewhere, somehow, in some unfathomable way, it must have repercussions."

"Quite possibly," said Pontchartrain, "but I cannot make out where and how exactly. exactly. You must understand, the King has asked me to You must understand, the King has asked me to double double his revenues to pay for the war. Double! The usual taxes and tariffs have already been squeezed dry. I must resort to novel measures." his revenues to pay for the war. Double! The usual taxes and tariffs have already been squeezed dry. I must resort to novel measures."

"Now I understand why you would like the advice of France's greatest savants, savants," said the d.u.c.h.ess. Whereupon all eyes turned to Rossignol. But he had suddenly braced his feet and jerked his head back. For a few moments he stared up at the indigo sky through half-closed eyes, and did not breathe; then he exhaled, and took in a deep draught of the cold air.