“A faithful friend is the true image.”

VIII

“Must you go to Mittau?” the Marquis du Plessy said when I told him what I intended to do.  “It is a long, expensive post journey; and part of the way you may not be able to post.  Riga, on the gulf beyond Mittau, is a fine old town of pointed gables and high stone houses.  But when I was in Mittau I found it a mere winter camp of Russian nobles.  The houses are low, one-story structures.  There is but one castle, and in that his Royal Highness the Count of Provence holds mimic court.”

We were riding to Versailles, and our horses almost touched sides as my friend put his hand on my shoulder.

“Don’t go, Lazarre.  You will not be welcome there.”

“I must go, whether I am welcome or not.”

“But I may not last until you come back.”

“You will last two months.  Can’t I post to Mittau and back in two months?”

“God knows.”

I looked at him drooping forward in the saddle, and said: 

“If you need me I will stay, and think no more about seeing those of my own blood.”

“I do need you; but you shall not stay.  You shall go to Mittau in my own post-carriage.  It will bring you back sooner.”

But his post-carriage I could not accept.  The venture to Mittau, its wear and tear and waste, were my own; and I promised to return with all speed.  I could have undertaken the road afoot, driven by the necessity I felt.

“The Duchess of Angouleme is a good girl,” said the marquis, following the line of my thoughts.  “She has devoted herself to her uncle and her husband.  When the late czar withdrew his pension, and turned the whole mimic court out of Mittau, she went with her uncle, and even waded the snow with him when they fell into straits.  Diamonds given to her by her grandmother, the Empress Maria Theresa, she sold for his support.  But the new czar reinstated them; and though they live less pretentiously at Mittau in these days, they still have their priest and almoner, the Duke of Guiche, and other courtiers hanging upon them.  My boy, can you make a court bow and walk backwards?  You must practice before going into Russia.”

“Wouldn’t it be better,” I said, “for those who know how, to practice the accomplishment before me?”

“Imagine the Count of Provence stepping down from playing royalty to do that!” my friend laughed.

“I don’t know why he shouldn’t, since he knows I am alive.  He has sent money every year for my support.”

“An established custom, Lazarre, gains strength every day it is continued.  You see how hard it is to overturn an existing system, because men have to undo the work they have been doing perhaps for a thousand years.  Time gives enormous stability.  Monsieur the Count of Provence has been practicing royalty since word went out that his nephew had died in the Temple.  It will be no easy matter to convince him you are fit to play king in his stead.”