The Phantom of Rue Royale (36 page)

‘By order of the Criminal Lieutenant, I inform you, Major, that a preliminary investigation has been opened against you for the attempted murder of Monsieur Aimé de Noblecourt, former procurator of the King.’

‘You’re joking, I hope?’ cried the major. ‘Who is this Noblecourt? Did I meet him in Vanves? Or Charenton?’

‘Observe, Monsieur, that there are two tags missing from your uniform. The first was used to block the attic door of the ambassadors’ mansion, an unworthy act that prevented a
magistrate
of the King from organising emergency help during the disaster in Place Louis XV. The second was found in the entrance to Monsieur de Noblecourt’s residence in Rue Montmartre two days ago. According to witnesses, it was torn off one of the attackers as they were assaulting the victim.’

‘Cowards deserve to be beaten, Monsieur!’

‘Which presumably means that I was the target of the attack. But it was an old man who bore the consequences.’

The major rose to his full height. ‘Monsieur Jérôme Bignon, provost of the merchants,’ he said, ‘will treat your accusation with the scorn it deserves, and I will take pleasure in your disgrace.’

‘We’ll see about that. In the meantime, Monsieur, Inspector Bourdeau will escort you to the Bastille.’

Nicolas went back to Rue Montmartre, where he told a delighted and sardonic Monsieur de Noblecourt all about the major’s arrest. Towards the end of the morning, he received a note bearing the arms of Monsieur de Sartine, informing him that he was invited to supper in the King’s small apartments that very evening. His Majesty wished to hear an account of the investigation from Nicolas’s own mouth, especially a description of the exorcism. Nicolas devoted what remained of the morning to choosing his attire and getting ready. By one in the afternoon, his carriage had passed Saint-Eustache and was crossing to the left bank of the river.

His account finished, Nicolas fell silent. Every one of those present was looking at the King, who was smiling pensively. Nicolas had made an effort to keep it short, mixing amusing comments with graver observations and trying hard not to overdramatise the demonic manifestations in the Galaine house. He described them in the tones of a naturalist who has just discovered a new species. The ladies shuddered and the men grew sombre or gave rather forced laughs. With his usual penchant for macabre details, the monarch, listening attentively, had
interrupted
him several times to ask him to clarify certain points. But Nicolas’s brisk narration had not dampened the King’s spirits. Louis liked nothing better in the evenings than to escape the constraints of etiquette and spend time in these intimate surroundings with his friends. There, with nobody making
representations to him, he could enjoy a few hours of peace, talk animatedly, encourage the freest conversations and provoke controversies, to which he reserved the right to put an end if they went beyond the permitted limits.

In his apartments, away at last from the constant pressure of public life, the King was free to reveal his true nature, that mixture of gaiety and melancholy, devoid of affectation or any artificial desire to please. What made these evenings so agreeable was the choice of guests and the atmosphere of exquisite and subtle urbanity. For all its violence and horror, Nicolas’s story had, thanks to his moderation, his elegance of tone and his lightly ironic touch, made the moment even more precious.

‘Monsieur de Ranreuil is a first-class storyteller,’ said the King. ‘That was the first impression I had of him back in 1761. It was quite cold …’

Nicolas admired the monarch’s memory. It had sounded as though he were about to mention the Marquise de Pompadour, but had held back at the last moment. Those present, Madame de Flavacourt, Madame de Valentinois and the Maréchale de Mirepois for the women, and the Maréchal de Richelieu, the Marquis de Chauvelin, Monsieur de Sartine and Monsieur de La Borde for the men, were listening to the King with respect and affection.

‘If the King will allow me to ask a question,’ said Richelieu. He did not wait for a reply. ‘Has the King ever seen the devil?’

The King started laughing. ‘I see you every day – that’s enough for me! However, when I was a child, I thought I saw the little man who was said to wander the corridors of the Tuileries. I talked about it quite innocently to my tutor, the Maréchal de
Villeroy. He was pleased that I had been afraid, since that was how he felt, too, and he strengthened me in my conviction that I had seen something. I was so terrified I couldn’t sleep. I decided to open my heart to my cousin d’Orléans, who was then regent. He was furious.’

A door opened. The King turned, recovering his cold, distant air in a split second. Who had dared enter like this without being announced by an usher? Then his face relaxed and softened at the radiant sight that presented itself: a young woman whom Nicolas realised could only be the King’s new mistress, the Comtesse du Barry.

How dazzling she was, thought Nicolas, and what a contrast to the good lady of Choisy, so sick and so ravaged at the end! The young woman was wearing a white dress with panniers, its satin threaded through with silver, decorated with pink and green sequins. Little embroidered roses were strewn over the body of the garment. She was covered in cascades of diamonds, and with each step she took, there was a glimpse of her lace petticoats.

‘Oh, Madame!’ said the King, leaning towards her. ‘Roses without thorns!’

She made a low curtsey and sat down on a
bergère
. Her natural blonde hair framed regular, graceful features. There was a delicacy about her face, and at the same time a lustre discernible in her little mouth. Her narrow blue eyes were half-open, and yet her gaze was frank and forthright, and radiated a languid charm. The overall impression was one of youth and seductiveness. She was said to be kind and obliging. The fact remained that Monsieur de Sartine was still bitter about a quarrel he had had with the lady who, while apparently amused by some of the satirical songs of
which she had been the target, nevertheless bore a grudge against the man whose task it was to prevent them from appearing, or to seize them when they had appeared.

‘Madame,’ said the King, ‘you’ve just missed a tale beside which those of many authors would pale. Young Ranreuil, whom I mentioned to you, really amused us … or frightened us, depending on how you look at it.’

‘If he amused Your Majesty,’ said the countess, ‘then he deserves my gratitude.’

The King stood up and urged Madame de Flavacourt, the Maréchale de Mirepois and Monsieur de Chauvelin to join him in a game of whist. The Duc de Richelieu took Nicolas by the arm and led him over to Madame du Barry.

‘Madame, I advise you to win this heart. He is worthy of his father, even though he intends to remain a Le Floch.’

‘In His Majesty’s service, Monseigneur. The police – just think of it – would be a demeaning profession for the Marquis de Ranreuil.’

‘Ho, ho!’ said the duke. ‘I’m going to tell that to Sartine; he’ll be delighted. So, Madame, what is happening about your apartments?’

‘I’ve abandoned the one on the Cour des Fontaines for one left by Lebel,
1
near the chapel, and I’m waiting for a small study. I collect, I gather and I scour the connoisseurs. Lacquers, ivories, minerals and bisques – which are my favourites – hold no more secrets for me.’

‘Minerals? Diamonds above all, I assume.’

‘They are made to run in rivers, Maréchal.’

‘Quite an ambition! What does Choiseul say?’

‘He turns up his ugly nose.’

‘Did you know,’ Richelieu went on, ‘that our friend Chauvelin has abandoned his apartment in the chateau and that His Majesty has been so good as to grant it to the Maréchal d’Estrées? Not that Chauvelin has lost out, for he now has the Marquise de Durefort’s apartment. Admittedly, he made the gesture of reimbursing her for all the improvements she made to it, as he was determined to retain it in all its finery.’

The comtesse turned to Nicolas, and the ardour in her eyes made him quiver. The King’s hoarse voice could be heard commenting on his lucky cards and mocking Chauvelin.

‘Monsieur,’ she said, ‘I’ve been told I can count on your devotion, and that nothing can equal the fervour with which you serve the King and those … who are close to him.’

‘You are too indulgent, Madame.’

‘I’ve also been told that you were much appreciated by a certain lady. And that the services you rendered her were fully commensurate with your loyalty.’

‘Madame, the King’s service is indivisible.’

‘I’m convinced, Marquis, that one day you will wish to do something which is agreeable to me.’

‘Everything I have I owe to His Majesty, Madame. So you can count on my zeal and my attachment to all those who are dear to him.’

The King’s favourites came and went, he thought, but they all believed they could score points with him if they addressed him by his title – a title which he had renounced and which meant nothing to him. The evening passed like a dream and was an apt reward for his efforts. The King talked to him several times in
private with that benevolent open-mindedness that made him so loved by those close to him. Nicolas would have liked to share his happiness with the whole of France. When he found himself in Sartine’s carriage, he had the impression he was reliving a scene he had already lived through ten years earlier. The Lieutenant General of Police, who, beneath his cold, polite exterior, felt things deeply, smiled and said in his ear, ‘May destiny always offer us such happy journeys home from Versailles!’

A long, high-pitched whistle accompanied Nicolas as he descended the accommodation ladder of the
Orion
. He stopped for a moment. The skiff that was to take him back to the riverbank was moving up and down on the waves. He waited until the floor of the boat and the ship’s gunwale were level, and jumped into the skiff. Naganda, leaning on the guardrail of the ship, his long hair floating in the wind, waved to him. Soon, a grove of trees on a little island in the Loire hid the ship from sight.

Since the conclusion of the Rue Saint-Honoré case, things had moved quickly. Charlotte Galaine and Marie Chaffoureau, both found guilty of the crimes with which they had been charged, would soon, according to the procedure, undergo the final interrogation before judgement on the ‘saddle of infamy’. The rigour of the law left them no chance to escape the gallows, even after making amends. The other actors in the drama had been exonerated. Charles Galaine, who was strongly suspected of being complicit in the crime, whether passively or not, underwent torture without opening his mouth. Admittedly, he had lost
consciousness even before the torturer had approached him and begun his work. His peers in the guild of furriers had interceded for him and, in the absence of hard evidence, he was released. He had immediately set sail for Sweden, where he planned to pick up the threads of his business and open a new shop.

The dishonoured Madame Galaine had broken off all relations with her husband and had retired to a convent in Compiegne. The nest egg amassed through her evil trade had opened the doors of this peaceful retreat to her, and there, sheltered from the world, she would oversee the education of her daughter. Camille Galaine had responded to both interrogation and torture with incoherent answers. She was now vegetating in the house in Rue Saint-Honoré. The strangeness of her character had become accentuated. She collected cats by the dozen and, all alone in the fetid mustiness of their excreta, spoke to the devil. It did not look as though Miette would ever recover her reason: her whole life would be spent amid the horrors of a house of correction. Dorsacq had promised to recognise her child. Made superstitious by the extraordinary events in the Galaine house, he claimed to have been touched by grace and wished to mend his ways.

As for Naganda, who was now free, he had decided to return to the New World in order to succeed his father at the head of the confederacy of Micmac tribes. Monsieur de Sartine had been surprised that Nicolas had not sufficiently pressed home his advantage by forcing the Indian to reveal information, which, apparently, could have helped the investigation to end sooner. ‘What!’ the Lieutenant General had exclaimed. ‘You have a vital witness in your hands and you let him do as he likes in a garret from which he escapes at will, like an alley cat!’ It had not been
difficult for Nicolas to counter that, as the procedure had been exceptional and the whole case had an irrational side, putting too much pressure on Naganda would not necessarily have yielded much, and that his presence in the Galaine house had been one of the determining elements in the complicated alchemy of cause and effect in this domestic tragedy. Grudgingly, his chief had been forced to agree. Then, with another smile, he had added a cryptic comment to the effect that ‘whatever we do, we always rebuild the monument in our own manner’.

Remarkably, the King, who forgot nothing and whose curiosity had been aroused by the commissioner’s story, had ordered that the Indian be presented to him. Nicolas would long remember this astonishing conversation between the monarch and the Micmac, who still considered himself his subject,
whatever
the treaties said. The young Dauphin was also present. Much to his grandfather’s surprise, he shrugged off his usual reticence, and without any shyness asked Naganda many questions,
displaying
real geographical and cartographical knowledge.

He was also kind enough to thank Nicolas for his investigation into the disaster of 30 May.

A second audience had followed, this time in the King’s secret study with only Nicolas present. Soon afterwards, Sartine
communicated
to him the decisions the monarch had come to as a result of this extraordinary combination of circumstances. Charmed by Naganda’s talents, the King had decided to use his services. He would set sail on a vessel as the ship’s scribe, and would be secretly landed on the coast of the Gulf of Saint Laurence. Louis wished to be kept informed of events in his former possession. It was important to maintain links with the
loyal tribes there, some of whom, like the Micmacs, were still fighting the English. A secretary from the Foreign Ministry initiated Naganda into the subtle mysteries of encoding, and he was given a personal code. An approximate calendar of
meetings
was drawn up to facilitate regular contacts with a fishing boat that travelled up and down the coast of Newfoundland. The King provided Naganda with all the equipment he needed, and gave him a tobacco pouch with his portrait. The Indian had launched himself enthusiastically into his preparations, over joyed that he was still able to serve the old country.