Читать книгу The Poisoned Crown - Морис Дрюон - Страница 17

AT DAWN A MULE-BORNE litter, escorted by two armed servants, entered the great porch of the Artois house in the Rue Mauconseil. Beatrice d’Hirson, niece of the Chancellor of Artois and lady-in-waiting to the Countess Mahaut, alighted from it. No one would have thought that this handsome dark-haired girl had travelled nearly a hundred miles since the day before. Her dress was hardly creased; her face with its high cheekbones was as smooth and fresh as if she had just awakened from sleep. Besides, she had slept part of the way under comfortable rugs, to the swinging of the litter. Beatrice d’Hirson, and it was rare in a woman of that period, had no fear of travelling by night; she saw in the dark like a cat and knew that she was under the protection of the devil. Long-legged and high-breasted, walking with steps that seemed slow because they were long and regular, she went straight to the Countess Mahaut, whom she found at breakfast.

‘It is done, Madam,’ said Beatrice, handing the Countess a little horn box.

‘Well, and how is my daughter Jeanne?’

‘The Countess of Poitiers is as well as can be expected, Madam; her life at Dourdan is not too harsh and her gentle disposition has won over her gaolers. Her complexion is clear and she has not grown too thin; she is sustained by hope and by your concern for her.’¹²

‘What of her hair?’ the Countess asked.

‘It has only a year’s growth, Madam, and is not yet as long as a man’s; but it seems to be growing thicker than it was before.’

‘But is she presentable?’

‘With a veil about her face, most certainly. And she can wear false plaits to hide her neck and ears.’

‘You can’t keep false hair on in bed,’ said Mahaut.

She finished up her bacon-and-pea stew in great spoonfuls and then, to cleanse her palate, drank a full goblet of red Poligny wine. Then she opened the horn box and looked at the grey powder it contained.

‘How much did this cost me?’

‘Seventy pounds.’

‘Damn it, these witches make one pay heavily for their art.’

‘They run a big risk.’

‘How many of the seventy pounds have you kept for yourself?’ said the Countess, looking her lady-in-waiting straight in the eye.

Beatrice did not turn her eyes away and, still smiling ironically, replied in her slow voice, ‘Hardly any, Madam. Merely enough to buy this scarlet dress which you had promised me but failed to give me.’

Countess Mahaut could not help laughing; the girl knew how to handle her.

‘You must be hungry, have some of this duck pâté,’ she said, helping herself to a huge slice.