CHAPTER III.

The Equipage at Full Speed.—­The Poor Vine-grower.—­Sensibility of Madame de Maintenon.—­Her Popularity.—­One Has the Right to Crush a Man Who Will Not Get Out of the Way.—­What One Sees.—­What They Tell You.—­All Ends at the Opera.—­One Can Be Moved to Tears and Yet Like Chocolate.

Another event with a tragical issue, and one to which I contributed even less, served to feed and foster that hatred, mixed with envy, which the rabble populace guards always so persistently towards the favourites of kings or fortune.

Naturally quick and impatient, I cannot endure to move with calm and state along the roads.  My postilions, my coachmen know it, driving in such fashion that no equipage is ever met which cleaves the air like mine.

I was descending one day the declivity of the Coeur-Volant, between Saint Germain and Marly.  The Marquises de Maintenon and d’Hudicourt were in my carriage with M. le Duc du Maine, so far as I can remember.  We were going at the pace which I have just told, and my outriders, who rode in advance, were clearing the way, as is customary.  A vine-grower, laden with sticks, chose this moment to cross the road, thinking himself, no doubt, agile enough to escape my six horses.  The cries of my people were useless.  The imprudent fellow took his own course, and my postilions, in spite of their efforts with the reins, could not prevent themselves from passing over his body; the wheels followed the horses; the poor man was cut in pieces.

At the lamentations of the country folk and the horrified passers-by, we stopped.  Madame de Maintenon wished to alight, and when she perceived the unfortunate vine-grower disfigured with his wounds, she clasped her hands and fell to weeping.  The Marquise d’Hudicourt, who was always simplicity itself, followed her friend’s example; there was nothing but groans and sorrowful exclamations.  My coachman blamed the postilions, the postilions the man’s obstinacy.

Madame de Maintenon, speaking as though she were the mistress, bade them be silent, and dared to say to them before all the crowd:  “If you belonged to me, I would soon settle you.”  At these words all the spectators applauded, and cried:  “Vive Madame de Maintenon!”

Irritated at what I had just heard, I put my head out of the door, and, turning to these sentimental women, I said to them:  “Be good enough to get in, mesdames; are you determined to have me stoned?”

They mounted again, after having left my purse with the poor relations of the dead man; and as far as Ruel, which was our destination, I was compelled to listen to their complaints and litanies.

“Admit, madame,” I declared to Madame de Maintenon, “that any person except myself could and would detest you for the harm you have done me.  Your part was to blame the postilions lightly and the rustic very positively.  My equipage did not come unexpectedly, and my two outriders had signalled from their horses.”