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Maker Innovations Series
Jump start your path to discovery with the Apress Maker Innovations
series! From the basics of electricity and components through to the most
advanced options in robotics and Machine Learning, you’ll forge a path to
building ingenious hardware and controlling it with cutting-edge software.
All while gaining new skills and experience with common toolsets you can
take to new projects or even into a whole new career.
The Apress Maker Innovations series offers projects-based learning,
while keeping theory and best processes front and center. So you get
hands-on experience while also learning the terms of the trade and how
entrepreneurs, inventors, and engineers think through creating and
executing hardware projects. You can learn to design circuits, program AI,
create IoT systems for your home or even city, and so much more!
Whether you’re a beginning hobbyist or a seasoned entrepreneur
working out of your basement or garage, you’ll scale up your skillset to
become a hardware design and engineering pro. And often using low-
cost and open-source software such as the Raspberry Pi, Arduino, PIC
microcontroller, and Robot Operating System (ROS). Programmers and
software engineers have great opportunities to learn, too, as many projects
and control environments are based in popular languages and operating
systems, such as Python and Linux.
If you want to build a robot, set up a smart home, tackle assembling a
weather-ready meteorology system, or create a brand-new circuit using
breadboards and circuit design software, this series has all that and more!
Written by creative and seasoned Makers, every book in the series tackles
both tested and leading-edge approaches and technologies for bringing
your visions and projects to life.
Farzin Asadi
Essentials of Arduino™ Boards Programming: Step-by-Step Guide to Master
Arduino Boards Hardware and Software
Farzin Asadi
Department of Electrical and Electronics Engineering, Maltepe University,
Istanbul, Türkiye
ISBN-13 (pbk): 978-1-4842-9599-1 ISBN-13 (electronic): 978-1-4842-9600-4
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-1-4842-9600-4
Copyright © 2023 by Farzin Asadi
This work is subject to copyright. All rights are reserved by the Publisher, whether the whole or
part of the material is concerned, specifically the rights of translation, reprinting, reuse of
illustrations, recitation, broadcasting, reproduction on microfilms or in any other physical way,
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and images only in an editorial fashion and to the benefit of the trademark owner, with no
intention of infringement of the trademark.
The use in this publication of trade names, trademarks, service marks, and similar terms, even if
they are not identified as such, is not to be taken as an expression of opinion as to whether or not
they are subject to proprietary rights.
While the advice and information in this book are believed to be true and accurate at the date of
publication, neither the authors nor the editors nor the publisher can accept any legal
responsibility for any errors or omissions that may be made. The publisher makes no warranty,
express or implied, with respect to the material contained herein.
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Paper in this product is recyclable
Dedicated to my lovely brother, Farzad, and my lovely
sisters, Farnaz and Farzaneh.
Table of Contents
About the Author�������������������������������������������������������������������������������xiii
Introduction��������������������������������������������������������������������������������������xvii
vii
Table of Contents
viii
Table of Contents
ix
Table of Contents
x
Table of Contents
xi
Table of Contents
Index�������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������327
xii
About the Author
Farzin Asadi received his BSc in Electronics
Engineering, MSc in Control Engineering, and
PhD in Mechatronics Engineering.
Currently, he is with the Department of
Electrical and Electronics Engineering at
Maltepe University, Istanbul, Turkey.
Dr. Asadi has published more than 40 papers
in ISI/Scopus indexed journals. He has written 25
books. His research interests include switching
converters, control theory, robust control of
power electronics converters, and robotics.
xiii
About the Technical Reviewer
Hai Van Pham received his BSc, MSc, and PhD
in Computer Science.
Currently, he is with the School of
Information and Communication Technology,
Hanoi University of Science and Technology,
Hanoi, Vietnam.
Dr. Pham has published over 100 papers in
ISI/Scopus indexed journals. He is an associate
editor in domestic and international journals
and served as chair and technical committee
member of many national and international
conferences including SOICT 2014, KSE 2015, KSE 2017, KSE 2019, KSE
2021, and KSE 2022.
His research interests include artificial intelligence, knowledge-based
systems, big data, soft computing, rule-based systems, and fuzzy systems.
xv
Introduction
Arduino is an open source hardware and software company, project,
and user community that designs and manufactures single-board
microcontrollers and microcontroller kits for building digital devices.
Arduino boards use a variety of microcontrollers, and each board is
suitable for a specific application. For instance, Arduino Nano or Pro Mini
is an ideal option if space or weight is important for you. If you search for
a board with many input/output (I/O) pins, then Arduino MEGA is a good
option for you. If you need an Arduino board for a time-critical application
like a robot control, then Arduino DUE is a good choice. Arduino UNO is a
good option for educational purposes. All of the examples in this book are
done with Arduino UNO.
There exist many other development boards in the world, but why are
Arduino boards so famous with millions of users? Here are some of the
basic reasons that make Arduino boards outstanding:
xvii
Discovering Diverse Content Through
Random Scribd Documents
"Claude! No. Surely he is not also returned?"
"Ah! I warned him that he would perish of ennui among those savages."
"On the contrary, he would appear, from a letter which I have received,
to be very well amused. From his accounts he has met there some delightful
people—a charming girl—by name—peste! I forget the name—"
"It is no matter. Claude among the bourgeois! Who could fancy it? Eh
bien, let us dine."
The dinner was not protracted, for none of the three found it very
comfortable. At its end Mme. de Châteauroux rose abruptly, snapping a
finger for Fouchelet, and turning to her brother with the dismissing
command, "Summon our chairs, Henri."
Mailly-Nesle went off obediently to see that the chairs and link-boys
were ready, while the sisters adjusted their scarfs and caps. The brother
handed them out, gave directions as to their destination, and himself started
to return on foot to his hôtel. The ladies were going to Mme. de Tencin, who
lived near by, not far from the Orleans Palais Royal. Though they had dined
at an unconventionally late hour, it was not yet dark, the sunset just fading
into a twilight that played in softening shadows about the old streets, with
their high, gabled wooden houses, and the occasional buildings of stone. The
streets were quiet, for all Paris was at supper. A few chairs, a chaise or two,
and now and then a coach with some familiar coat-of-arms on its panels
passed them. Foot-passengers were few. In crossing the Place du Palais
Royal, however, Mme. de Châteauroux, looking out of the open window of
her chair, encountered the glance of a priest going the opposite way. She
bowed, and he uncovered with a respect less marked than usual, walking on
without any attempt to speak to her. It was the Abbé de Bernis.
"Victorine is here, then," concluded madame. "I wonder how she will
receive me?" And at the question a pang smote the Duchess's heart. Her fall
was accomplished; but its consequences she had not yet endured.
Twilight rose rapidly now, and it was dark enough for the torches of the
link-boys to be lighted by the time the slow-moving chairs stopped at their
destination. The Hôtel de Tencin was not imposing from the outside. It was
narrow and high, with a larger building close on either hand. Inside,
however, it was furnished like a palace, and, indeed, most of the guests who
entered it spent the greater part of their lives in or about the abode of royalty.
Paris was empty at this season, and the regular salons were closed. The
Duchesse du Maine had carried off all her pet philosophers and literati to
Sceaux. That small portion of the Court which had not contrived to follow
the army was scattered over France. The very Opera was shut. And thus
Mme. de Tencin and Victorine resigned themselves to the most stupid of
evenings after their small supper. At something after seven o'clock, however,
the first valet appeared on the threshold of the small white-and-gold room,
with the announcement:
Mme. de Tencin sprang to her feet. From just outside came the stiff rustle
of feminine garments.
"Marie!"
"Claudine!"
The two women flung themselves into each other's arms, touched
cheeks, first on one side, then on the other, and finally Mme. de Tencin held
the Duchess off at arm's-length, gazed at her through a river of tears, and
murmured, in a transport of grief: "My poor Anne!"
"Claudine! Cl—audine!"
"If any one could accomplish that, you are certainly the one to do so. But
he is called indispensable to the ministry."
"François d'Agenois."
"Marie!"
"Again!"
The latter exclamation came from Victorine. The Duchess smiled at her.
"Yes, again. The first time he was a complete success. I will make him so
this time."
"Poor boy!"
"Ah, yes. Henri says that he is in America. Imagine it. However, Claude
was less useful. I had more feeling for him—my cousin, you understand."
This time the little Marquise made no reply. She suddenly turned serious,
and a pause crept upon the four.
Mme. de Tencin, after waiting nearly a minute for some one to speak,
herself exclaimed: "Come, let us play at piquet. It is the only thing left.
Cavagnole is impossible. Mme. de Lauraguais, I leave you to the Maréchale.
Victorine, you will be becoming a second Mirepoix soon. Marie, you shall
play with me. Come—the tables are here."
"Poor man!"
Mme. de Tencin led the way to the gaming-room, which, to tell the truth,
was a principal feature in her hôtel; and here the four ladies seated
themselves at two tables. It took Mme. de Châteauroux a little more than an
hour to lose her stipulated sum, for stakes among women are not high. That
being done, true to her word, she rose.
So they all rustled back to the little salon, adjusted their very light wraps,
partook of the liqueur and cakes prepared, and then departed, each to her
chair, with many affectionate adieus. Victorine, yawning mentally, went her
way to her lonely abode in the Rue Fromentin, while the others returned to
the Rue du Bac, where madame was greeted with news that made her furious
with mortification. Fouchelet had returned from Versailles with the word
from Mme. de Boufflers that Mme. de Châteauroux's wardrobe and dogs
should be despatched to her on the following day. As to the furniture and
toys in her apartments, and her private chef and footmen, they had belonged
to Mme. de Châteauroux not as woman, but as favorite of his Majesty. They
were really the insignia of office, and no longer belonged to one who had
been publicly dismissed from her post.
The letter in which these things were said was perfectly cold, perfectly
polite, and perfectly unreasonable. Its tone, however, was not to be mistaken.
It was the first deep wound given to the deposed sub-queen, and its sensation
was too fresh to be easily borne. At something after two o'clock in the
morning she fell into an unquiet sleep, and then Mme. de Lauraguais, who
had attended her, crept away to her own room, too tired to scold her maid.
Jean ran back across the room, pushed open the door, and stood aside.
Mme. de Châteauroux, clothed in clouds of white muslin that floated about
her in fold after fold, luminous, filmy, her golden hair unpowdered, curling
upon her shoulders, her eyes lustrous, an expression of tender melancholy on
her face, appeared on the threshold, framed in the bright sunshine that
streamed through the windows.
"Anne!" The man gave a faint cry and began to move towards her,
dizzily, both arms outstretched. He had loved her faithfully throughout the
two years. Had he not a right to tremble now, at their reunion?
The Duchess smiled slowly into his eyes, and moved towards him in a
fashion peculiar to herself, not walking, floating rather.
"Anne, you are not changed—you are not changed at all. You are just as I
have thought of you. You are my angel. You came—you did not forget—I
have been so ill, have suffered so. Ah, you are adorable!"
With nervous eagerness he drew her to the sofa beside him, and sat
looking into her face, delightedly noting every feature, every shining hair
tendril, counting the very breaths that passed her lips. Madame, who had
known him so well in the old days, who thought of him always as one much
younger than herself, ran her fingers through his dark hair, smoothed the
forehead that was so hot, and insisted on his lying down again. This being
accomplished, she seated herself near him, one of his hands fast holding
hers, his eyes smiling up at her.
"I know only that you are my angel, Anne. What more could I wish?"
Thus this first visit passed off to the highest satisfaction of madame.
D'Agenois had always pleased her, was ever obedient to her way of thinking,
was singularly unselfish and unsuspicious, and his blind devotion to her was
perhaps the only reason why she did not care for him as she had seemed to
care for Louis of France. The young Duke was, moreover, still far from well;
and la Châteauroux was enough of a woman to have a taste for humoring a
patient who threw himself, utterly regardless of consequences, upon her
mercy. The first, then, became the beginning of an infinite series of visits,
none of which was short. Madame had not been in Paris a week before she
discovered that nothing but the boldest possible course was open to her now.
The story of her dismissal from Metz, exaggerated in every way, was
discussed from palace to fish-market. She was pointed out in the streets and
accosted with insulting remarks. The haute bourgeoisie itself sneered at her,
and as for the noblesse, those who in the old days had schemed for weeks to
obtain an invitation to her salon, could now have seen the moons of Saturn
with the naked eye more easily than they would behold Mme. de
Châteauroux in her chair. Mme. de Mailly-Nesle refused to admit either
sister to her hôtel. Henri at intervals went to the Rue du Bac out of duty, not
pleasure. Mme. de Tencin, while she frequently summoned both sisters to
her side when she was alone, was always singularly unable to receive
Madame la Duchesse during one of her evenings. Of all the former friends
and sycophants, Victorine de Coigny was the single person who allowed
herself to be seen in all places, at all hours, with the deposed favorite,
without finding her popularity thereby lessened. But the little Maréchale was
a peculiar case. It was her role to be unusual, unconventional; and this one
thing added to her risqué list could not harm her. Even had there been danger
in it, Victorine would have clung to the other woman, for the sake of their
old friendship. But Victorine had a rash nature.
Amid her little turmoil Marie Anne moved with apparent serenity.
Certainly her world, what part of it was still in Paris, must at first have
suspected the pangs of mortification that they daily caused her. But, so far as
outward evidence was concerned, there was none. A woman who had had the
wit and the unscrupulous fortitude to attain to the position once occupied by
Marie Anne de Mailly-Nesle, possessed enough strength of character to
accept the circumstances attendant on her fall with excellent philosophy. She
was the talk of all Paris, of Versailles, and of Sceaux. Her attitude was
unceasingly watched and commented on; and, after two weeks, a new idea
began to dawn in the various salons. It was the startling one that madame
had found a new string for her straightened bow. The idea originated when,
one evening at the Hôtel du Tours, the discovery was made that five people,
on five consecutive days, had seen the chair of Mme. de Châteauroux
waiting in the Rue de l'Evêque at the door of the d'Agenois hôtel.
Three of these people, moreover, had seen her herself issue from the
hôtel door, had refused recognition to her, and gone their ways. The salon of
M. Vauvenargues gasped. What a plan of action! How daring! How truly like
the whilom favorite! Was she in love with him, after all? What were the arms
of Châteauroux and d'Agenois? Were the quarterings harmonious? By the
middle of September the wedding was discussed as a surety, and many a
grande dame wondered if she might not throw hauteur to the winds and go.
Who would not wish to study the bridal dress? And then—after—question of
questions!—what would accrue when his Majesty returned? The salons
gasped again, wondered, and waited.
Matters also waited for some time. There occurred one of those
aggravatingly hopeless stand-stills when society purfled and shrugged and
created tireless smoke at a rate which science could not easily measure. No
wedding announcement was made; neither did his Majesty return to Paris.
Fribourg had proved to be a city possessed of rather better resources of
defence than the Court before its walls had of amusement. After two weeks
of cannonading and unsuccessful sorties on the part of the besieged, the
Court grew very bored indeed, and most of the ladies followed her Majesty
back to France. If the Queen had wished to stay longer at Louis' side, she did
not voice the wish, for her husband entertained a different notion. Among the
few departing gentlemen was a certain M. Lenormand d'Etioles, a nonentity
to history, who very joyfully accompanied his wife away from the occasional
sight of his Majesty, to an estate at Meudon, where madame deigned to
reside for one month.
The last siege of the campaign was at last triumphantly concluded on the
28th day of October, and three days later came the first rumor of the King's
approaching return to Paris. France received the news with hysterical joy. It
was odd, considering his ways, how universally adored throughout his youth
this King was. To his people he was a warrior hero. And, indeed, his
personality, since the first time that he had appeared in public, in a golden
robe one yard long, with violet leading-strings about his little shoulders, had
been beautiful enough to inspire worship. The portraits of his old age are
hideous enough; but that of Vanloo, which the great painter declared he
could not do justice to, is the one which should stand out above all others as
the true picture of this King of lotus-eaters. Preparations were made to give
his Majesty, and what of the army was with him, a magnificent reception. An
evening procession was arranged, during which all Paris and her river were
literally to roll in fire. The Faubourg St. Antoine turned out en masse for the
occasion, and, stranger still, not a noble in the city but contributed certain
louis d'or for fireworks, and arranged windows and a party to view the
procession.
"François, upon the 13th of November I shall stay all day here with you.
Nay, better, you shall come to me, and I will serve you such a little supper as
—"
Madame smiled at him, and they ceased to speak. They could sit silent
now for uncounted minutes, madame knowing every thought that flitted
through the brain of the young man; d'Agenois fancying, perhaps, that he
knew as much of the Duchess. If this were not so, what mattered it? He was
supremely happy. He had lost all jealousy, even of royalty, for he willingly
believed what she told him with every look: that she loved him, only, at last.
"None of them. Wait!" She sank into a chair to regain her breath, while
François sounded a gong, intending to order wine.
"It is only Henri, who sends us an urgent note to come at once to his
hôtel. I received it, and came for you. The coach is outside. He sent it."
Madame shrugged. "What startling thing can have happened?" she said,
smiling. "Perhaps Laure is dying, and wishes for me. However, I come."
And, after a gentle farewell for the day to d'Agenois, madame went. The
Mailly-Nesle coach bore the two ladies at a rapid pace across the Rue St.
Honoré, out upon the quay and on to the Pont Royal, on the opposite side of
which, just across from the Théatins, was the Hôtel de Mailly. During the
drive the sisters scarcely spoke. Mme. de Châteauroux certainly did not
seem curious as to the reason for Henri's imperative summons. To tell the
truth, she was not thinking of it. She was finishing a dream.
Henri himself met them at his door, smiled at Marie Anne's languid
greeting, refused to reply to the eager question of Elise, but conducted them
rapidly up-stairs into the grand salon. Here stood the Marquise, Henri's wife,
with two people, a man and a woman. As she caught sight of the man's face,
Mme. de Châteauroux gave a little cry, and turned suddenly colorless.
Claude came forward, raising her hand to his lips, and saluting Mme. de
Lauraguais, who was staring at him as at one raised from the dead.
Then de Mailly went back, and took the woman by the hand. A slight,
straight, girlish figure she had, a fair complexion, and a pair of large grayish
eyes, that were presently lifted to the face of la Châteauroux.
"Your wife!"
Deborah, with rather a pathetic little smile, courtesied low.
CHAPTER III
November Thirteenth
It was thus that Claude brought home his wife. Two months before he
had been married to her in Dr. Carroll's chapel by Aimé St. Quentin, with all
Annapolis to witness; and next day he left America on the Baltimore, in
company with Deborah, and her very modest little travelling coffer. Truly
bridal weather was theirs. The skies were fair, seas calmly blue, and
continuous light western winds, sent by the very gods themselves, carried
them straight to the English coast. All told, they were on the ship but six
weeks—six strange, half-terrible weeks to the colonial girl. She was learning
to know her husband, and he her. In a way, not always, but by spells,
Deborah was happy. She loved the sea, and she grew to be very fond of the
ship, clinging to it during the last days of the voyage as she had not clung to
her far Maryland home. She had become dimly apprehensive of the life into
which she was going, of which Claude had lately told her so much more than
he could do during their comradeship in Annapolis. He also made her speak
with him much in the French tongue, which she did readily enough at first,
in a manner caught from St. Quentin, her first instructor. But when it came to
using no English, to hearing none from Claude, her tongue faltered, and she
would remain silent for hours at a time rather than appear awkward before
him. Claude was very gentle. He made her finally understand, however, how
much easier it would be for her to make mistakes now, than to do so in the
land to which they were going. He told her the story of Marie Leczinska,
who had acquired all her knowledge of the language of her adopted country
from a waiting-maid who spoke a Provençal patois, and how the Queen was
ridiculed by all the Court till she studied secretly, many hours a day, with her
confessor, and was now, when she chose to exert herself, one of the most
excellent linguists in France. So Deborah took heart, and tried more bravely,
until, by the time they had crossed the English Channel and landed in Calais,
none but a close observer could have found a flaw in her ordinary
conversation.
And then it was that Claude knew how glad he was to do it—to have the
right to do it. And thereupon he threw care to the winds and became her
slave. He, too, regretted the end of the voyage, when it came. Nevertheless,
he had, in the past, suffered severely from homesickness, and Paris,
Versailles, Henri, Elise, and, more than all of them together, his other cousin,
were constantly in his mind. He dreamed and talked of them when he slept,
and, if Deborah had been proficient enough in French to make out the half-
coherent sentences that passed her husband's lips at night, she would
probably have learned still more about her approaching life in this way.
Unquestionably, Deborah dreaded the new life. She had reason to; not
alone because of the natural shyness attendant on a country girl's first
appearance at a great Court. She knew that Claude's whole existence was
bound up there. She believed that he cared rather more than he actually did
about this life that she had never lived. In consequence, upon the drive of
several days from Calais to Paris, Deborah grew more and more silent, more
and more definitely apprehensive, with each new stage. On the evening of
November 8th they arrived at Issy, and there spent the night. Next morning
Claude rose with the sun, some time before Deborah even awoke. He went
outside of their post-house and walked delightedly through the familiar
streets, listening to his own language spoken with his own accent on every
hand, discovering well-known shops and buildings, and returning in the
highest spirits to Deborah at nine o'clock. They had their chocolate and rolls
together, Deborah eating little and silently, Claude jesting and laughing
continually till she was roused out of her apathy by his thoughtlessness
towards her. It was not, however, till they were rolling along the Paris road
that she spoke—in English:
"Well, Claude, you have brought your Madame the Countess home to the
King. He'll be satisfied, I hope."
Apparently both the allusion and the bitterness were lost upon him. He
only answered with a bright smile: "I am satisfied, my Deborah. What the
King thinks is not my concern. Oh, I had not told you, had I?—that the King
is not here. He is coming home with the army next Saturday, the 13th, from
Strasbourg. You know he has been fighting all summer. They are going to
give him a triumph on his return. There will be a procession through the
street, and the King will ride in it. You will see him then, Deborah. Shall you
like it all?"
At half-past eleven o'clock their chaise passed the barrier, and they rolled
down the narrow street towards the river, in Paris at last. Claude himself was
quiet now. He was a little anxious; he could not be sure just what he should
find "at home." Moreover, the familiar streets and sounds no longer raised
his spirits. Instead, they came so near to bringing tears to his eyes, that he
was relieved when Deborah asked:
* * * * * *
*
It was half-past ten o'clock that night before Claude and his wife were
again alone together. They had left the salon thus early through weariness,
leaving the rest of the family party to disband as it would. Neither the Count
nor Deborah spoke till the suite of apartments assigned them on the second
floor had been gained and the door to their antechamber closed. Deborah
was going on to what she supposed must be their bedroom, when Claude
caught her hand.
Of a sudden the smile left Claude's face. He had not thought of this
before. "There, Debby, is your room—on this side is mine. A maid whom
Mme. de Mailly-Nesle has kindly lent you is waiting for you. Henri's valet is
there—where I sleep. We do not occupy the same room. It—it is not the
custom. Therefore sit here with me for a few moments, and tell me—how
you like them all—my family?"
"Not one, my Deborah, save that you were not insolent enough."
"Is she his wife, Claude? Why does he always call her madame? Why
did you call me madame? And she treated him so—so formally."
"Parbleu! you are right; they do not know each other very well, else she
could hardly help loving him; and she would not be so bourgeois as that! Do
you like her? She was kinder to you, Debby, than I have ever seen her to any
woman. Answer me—dost like her?"
"Yes—I liked her. She never looked at me when she spoke, and she
scarcely spoke to any one else."
Deborah turned crimson, and started to rise from her place, but de Mailly
gently held her back. He would have his answer; and it was given him. After
all, he had married a woman, and one whose feelings, though often
unexpressed, were none the less acute. She voiced them now. "Claude—I
hate her! She is not pretty. Her face is hideous! She was rude to me, to her
sister, to the Marquise, to every one but you. And you sat beside her almost
the whole afternoon. Ah! I cannot bear her! Mme. de Mailly told me why she
was in Paris, how she had been made to leave the King. Claude, are you not
ashamed that she is of your blood?"
Deborah was on her feet now, and flung her words straight at her
husband. He sat silent, quite still, rather pale, through the outburst. After it
he did not answer her question, but only murmured to himself, "Why do
women so seldom like her?" Then, looking up at his wife, he said, kindly:
"Deborah, you know that I have always been fond of my cousin. I—have
been very proud of her. So have we all. Was it unnatural that she should wish
to talk with me after we had been separated for so long?"
Deborah jerked her head impatiently. "I do not like her," she reiterated,
with dogged displeasure.
Claude rose, with a faint sigh. "Your French was wonderfully good. I
was very pleased, dear. To-morrow—you shall have some costumes ordered.
Naturally, yours are a little ancient in mode. Good-night."
"Good-night."
He kissed her upon the forehead, and would have turned away, but that
suddenly she flung her arms about his neck passionately, and, raising her lips
to his ear, whispered: "Claude—Claude—I am a stranger here. You are all I
have of—the old life. Be—be kind to me."
It was almost the first emotion that he had ever seen her display, and his
heart was warm as he took her tenderly into his arms again, whispering such
words as only lovers know. Five minutes later Deborah crept away to her
room happier than she had been before upon the soil of France; and not even
the somewhat terrifying stiffness of madame's maid, nor the loneliness of
this strange room, had power to banish the memory of her husband's good-
night.
The four succeeding days passed both rapidly and slowly. From late
morning till late night Deborah's hours were filled. She and Claude were to
remain at the Hôtel de Mailly till the return of the King, after which they
would take an apartment in Versailles. For the purpose of selecting one, they
went together to the little city on Thursday. In the Rue Anjou, near the pièce
des Suisses, they discovered a very pretty abode in the second floor of a
house—rooms once occupied by the Chevalier de Rohan, of duelistic fame,
furnished and hung in perfect taste, with precisely the number of rooms
desired. Then Deborah went to see the monstrous, silent palace and park;
after which she and Claude dined together at a café in the open air, quite à la
bourgeois, somewhat to the unspoken apprehension of Claude, who was not
pleased with the unconventional affair, which, however, unduly delighted his
wife. They returned to Paris in the early evening by coach, well satisfied
with the day. To Deborah's consternation, Claude next engaged a maid for
her, a woman whom she was supposed to command at will, who was to dress
and undress her, arrange her coiffure in the absence of the regular hair-
dresser, care for her wardrobe, and conduct madame's affairs of the heart
with discretion. To the little Countess's great delight, however, her first
person in this line left her service after three days, for the reason that Mme.
de Mailly seemed too devoted to monsieur the husband, and, in
consequence, there were no chances for fees of secrecy such as she was
accustomed to count upon as among her perquisites of office. By the time of
their removal to Versailles, another attendant had been found who pleased
her mistress better. Julie was lively, young, rather pretty, and not long from
the provinces. If her modes for hair and panniers were not so Parisian as
those of her predecessor, at least she and young Mme. de Mailly took a
fancy to each other from the first, and Deborah was more than content.
Meantime Claude had happily discovered and re-engaged his former valet,
and thus, with the addition of a chef and scullion and two lackeys, their little
ménage would be complete. Before all these matters were arranged,
however, the Marquise de Mailly-Nesle, who had taken an unaccountable
fancy to Claude's wife, accompanied Deborah to a milliner, to whom was
intrusted the task of preparing a wardrobe for the Countess. Deborah
watched the selections with delight and a secret consternation. Could Claude
afford such things, and such an infinite variety of them? Finally, unable to
hold her peace about the matter, she drew the Marquise one side, and
stammered out the question of prices with pretty embarrassment.
"Mon Dieu! child, why should I ask prices? If the bill is reasonable, be
assured that Claude will pay. If it is too large—pouf!—he will refuse to look
at it! That is all. Do not be alarmed."
Deborah, surprised and disturbed, felt that she must stop proceedings at
once, for the Maryland school of economy had been strict. But a shimmering
blue satin, with cloth of silver for petticoat, and ruffles of Venice point, was
now under consideration. Blue was her own color. She had never worn satin
in her life—and dearly she loved its enticing swish. Why, unless Claude
forbade, should she refuse it? And Claude did not forbid. When she
confessed her doubts during their anteroom conference that evening, he
laughed at her, cried that she should live in blue satin if she chose, and asked
what she was to wear on the morrow at the royal procession.
Upon this Saturday, the 13th of November, Paris did not wake up until
afternoon. By two o'clock, however, St. Antoine had left its domicile and
was dispersing itself in unkempt groups along those streets which, as it had
been posted, his Majesty would ride through in his triumphant home-
coming, on his way to the Tuileries. Marie Leczinska and the Dauphin spent
the morning in prayer, and were off together, after a hurried dinner, to join
their lord at the southeastern barrier. On the previous day Louis had been at
Meaux, but left that town in the afternoon, and spent the night at no great
distance from Paris. To tell the truth, he was not too well pleased at the
information that his metropolis was desirous of giving him a heroic
welcome. Certainly his title of bien-aimé was anything but his own choice.
Nothing bored him so thoroughly as affection taken in the abstract. All
through his early life he seemed to be unfortunate in having about him
people to whom he was totally indifferent, yet who persisted in blindly
worshipping him. In the case of his wife, it had not always been so. As a boy
he had been devoted to her. But for the Dauphin, with his Jesuitical manners
and phrases for all occasions, his father had never pretended to care. The
daughters were more amusing. This afternoon Louis would have been very
well pleased to see them when her Majesty's coach came up with the royal
staff, in the midst of which Louis sat on horseback. The Queen, after
alighting, stood looking at her husband with wistful yearning; but young
France, dropping on one knee in a dry spot in the road, cried out, with very
good expression:
There was a little pause. Then Louis remarked, casually, "You will catch
cold without your hat, child," after which he turned to one of his marshals
with some remark upon the day.
Paris had waited very patiently through the bleak November afternoon,
shivering and laughing in anticipation of its pleasure. Now the windows of
every house along the way were gleaming with candles and dotted with
heads. On either side of the street torches began to be lighted among the
standing throngs. Presently, as the heavy twilight fell lower, officers of the
police began, here and there, to illumine the long chains of lanterns that were
strung along the walls of houses, and, at short intervals, across the streets;
for Paris would admit no night yet. Every now and then, down among the
standing throngs, dashed the coach of some nobleman on the way to his own
view-point. The drivers of these vehicles took no heed of the people in their
paths. They were allowed to scramble away as best they might, or left to be
crushed beneath the horses' hoofs if they chose. No one murmured, for the
affair was quite usual.
"Truly, Mme. de Nesle, you have here all the world but two people."
"And who are those?" responded the Marquise, graciously, while the
salon grew suddenly quiet.
There was a vaguely indefinite murmur of interest from every part of the
room. Then from la Mirepoix came another remark, one such as only she
was capable of making: "M. de Mailly—oh, I mean the Count—you were
formerly always cognizant of the whereabouts of the dear Duchess. Can you
not inform us of them now?"
The company lifted its brow and a dozen glances were cast at Deborah—
this new little creature from the Americas. "She does not comprehend the
allusion," was the general thought, when they saw her attitude of large-eyed,
inattentive innocence. Only Claude, as he came forward a little, snuff-box in
hand, turned white.
Deborah smiled very faintly, and could make no reply. One of her hands
was tightly clenched. Otherwise she appeared unconcerned enough.
"Come to the window, here, madame, and look at the crowd upon the
quay. In your country I dare swear you have no such canaille."
"Poor things! How dirty and ragged they look in all the light," murmured
Deborah, in English.
"You should one day drive through the Faubourg where they live; it
would interest you," returned the abbé, in the same tongue.
Deborah looked at him with a quick smile. "English sounds very dear to
me. Thank you vastly for speaking it."
"One would learn Sanscrit to gain a word of praise from your lips,
madame," was the abbé's unnecessary reply, whispered, not spoken.
The young girl was embarrassed. How could a priest say such things?
Turning her head uneasily, she found Mme. de Coigny close to her, and
beheld a new expression on that childlike, fretful face. It was as well that, at
this moment, the distant shouting of the throng proclaimed the advance of
the royal procession. Under cover of the general hastening to the lantern-
hung windows, Victorine took occasion to murmur in de Bernis' ear:
"Why are you always cruel, François? Why will you continually torture
me so? This child, now! Have pity on her."
They were silent for a moment. Then Mme. de Coigny, as she stared into
the torchlit street below, sighed. "Those faces—the rags—the dirt—François,
do they not remind you of our first days together in the Court of Miracles?"
To his intense relief, Louis' long ride was nearly over; and, almost at its
end, when there should remain only a bridge to be crossed to the Tuileries,
he was hoping for something that should repay him for all his sacrifice of
time and comfort. Since the day of the dismissal from Metz the name of la
Châteauroux had never crossed the King's lips. But silence is not indicative
of forgetfulness. On the contrary, with every passing day Louis felt his life
more intolerably lonely, in the absence of her for whom he really cared more
than any one else. Now, as he drew near to the Hôtel de Mailly, which he
knew well, expectation and hope increased his speed, and he passed the
Théatins at a lively trot.
"See, Deborah, here is the royal regiment. Those, there, at the head, just
coming under the lights, are the marshals—ay, that is Coigny!"
Deborah Travis bent her head forward towards the window till the light
from the lantern that hung above her shone full in her face. In the street,
directly below, she beheld a great sorrel charger caparisoned in white and
silver, bearing a rider also in white, with laced coat, cloth breeches, shining
black riding-boots, white hat à la Garde Française, and across his breast a
wide blue ribbon, fastened with three orders. The eyes of Claude's wife
flashed over the figure and to the face, which was markedly distinct in the
light of the torches.
At the instant that Louis passed beneath the string of lamps across the
way, Deborah's eyes fell upon his bright blue ones. As though she possessed
magnetic power, the King responded to the look. It was not the face that he
had hoped to find here, but it was one—as fair. The royal hat came off, the
royal figure bent to the saddle-bow. And then he was gone. Deborah's cheeks
were redder than her rouge. Every woman in the room had turned to look at
her, but some eyes, perhaps, stopped at sight of Claude. His face was
deathly, and upon it was plainly written new, quickening dread; while both
of his white hands were tightly clenched over his polished nails.
CHAPTER IV
Claude's Own
The Nouvelles à la Main of the 15th of November announced, among
many things, that the Count and Countess de Mailly had entered their
apartment in the Rue d'Anjou at Versailles. Deborah, who for some time had
been secretly caressing the thought of "home," went into the little suite of
rooms with a glorified, colonial sense of mistress-ship. Madam Trevor's
method of housekeeping was familiar to her in every detail, from candle-
dipping to the frying of chickens; and, while she felt rather helpless, having
no slaves at her command, she determined to do what she could with the two
liveried lackeys, and to demand others of Claude if she found it necessary.
She and Claude had never discussed housekeeping together, for the reason
that Claude had no conception of the meaning of the word.
They arrived and were served with dinner in their little abode on
Monday. Tuesday afternoon found Deborah seated helplessly in the boudoir,
with her husband, rather pale and nervous, before her. He had found her,
utterly oblivious of the consternation of the chef, the lackeys, and the
scullion, washing Chinese porcelain teacups in the kitchen. And it was then
that Deborah received her first lesson in French great-ladyhood, by whose
iron laws all her housewifely instincts were to be bound about and
imprisoned. She must never give an order relative to the management of
their ménage. She must never purchase or arrange a single article of food
that was to be prepared for their table. She must never dream of performing
the smallest act of manual labor. She might designate the hour for meals, or
inform the first lackey how many were to be served, or what beverage
should be passed at her toilette. She might keep her appointments with
costumers, milliners, hair-dressers, furriers, jewellers, toy-men; and she
might see that her engagement-book was filled. That was all that was
expected of her in the way of labor. She had made a great false step to-day,
and it must not occur again.
"We might, then, as well have stayed at your cousin's house. This is only
our tavern, kept for our convenience," she said, at last.
"On the contrary, we make all Paris, all Versailles, our home."
Deborah folded her hands, and her face grew suddenly helpless in
expression. "I don't like it," she said, faintly.
"Dear, you do not know it. Wait. You will soon be too much occupied to
think of it. Why is your coffer still here? Has not Julie unpacked it? You
must not permit laziness."
"She has done all that I would allow. I will finish it myself. Claude, may
I have something?"
"You know in our salon there is, near the mantel, a little cabinet against
the wall—a little cabinet with two shelves, and a door and key."
"You know that I have neither, Claude. But I want the cabinet."
Claude shrugged, never dreaming what she intended the place for. It was
but a little thing to ask; and besides, curiously enough, Claude, who had
been brought up among the most unreliable class of women in the world, had
yet been so little affected by their ways that, ten weeks after their marriage,
he was beginning to trust his wife. She was as honest as a man when she did
not like a thing, or when she wanted one; she was not talkative; she did not
make scenes; he had beheld her angry, but it was not with a malicious anger;
and, more than all, she never complained. So far Claude had found nothing
to regret in his marriage. He realized it now as he stood there in her dressing-
room, while she sat looking at him expectantly.
"Eh, well—the cabinet and its key are yours. You'll not forget what I
have been telling you this afternoon?"
"No."
He smiled again, went to her side and kissed her. "Good-bye, then. I am
going out. You will not be lonely? Mme. de Coigny may come. After your
presentation to the Queen, you know, there will be no idle moments."
He left her with a little nod and smile, and, donning hat and cloak,
departed towards the Avenue de Sceaux, from which he turned into the Rue
des Chaniers, bound for a little building at the end of it, not far from the
deer-park, which was much in favor as an afternoon assembling place for
gentlemen of the Court during the unoccupied hours of the afternoon. Here
one might gamble as he chose, high or low; drink coffee, rum, or vin d'Ai;
fight his duel, if need be; or peruse an account of the last one in a paper, if he
did not want to talk. It was a comfortable and ugly little place, kept by M.
Berkley, of fame somewhat undesirable in London, but of gracious
personality here.
To-day, for the first time in months, the little place was creditably filled
with its customary patrons, noblemen and lords to whom camp-life had
lately become more familiar than the Court. Here were assembled all those
gentlemen who, two days ago, had ridden into Paris with Louis; and a good
many more who mysteriously reappeared out of the deeps of lower Paris,
where they had been hidden from salon gossip and too many women. That
morning Richelieu, d'Epernon, and de Gêvres left the Tuileries in despair.
The King, clad in a stout leathern suit, was shut into an empty room with his
friend the carpenter, making snuff-boxes with all his might, and admitting
neither silk, velvet, his wife, nor the Dauphin into his presence. His
gentlemen were now less harmlessly occupied. De Gêvres was opposing
d'Epernon on the red. Richelieu, in a mood, played solitaire à la Charles VI.
against himself, the sums that he lost being vowed to go to Mlle. Nicolet of
the Opéra ballet. De Mouhy, d'Argenson, de Coigny, de Rohan, Maurepas,
Jarnac, and half a dozen others were grouped about the room, drinking,
betting, and gossiping. The conversation turned, as it was some time bound
to do, on la Châteauroux and d'Agenois.
"The King has not yet, I believe, discovered the renewed relationship,"
drawled d'Epernon, mildly.
There was a little round of significant looks and nods. Evidently the
Duke's sang-froid had not deserted him. Every one knew very well that the
deposed favorite and her former preceptor were soon bound to be at opposite
ends of the scales, and that her rise now meant his fall.
"I wonder—" began Coigny, thoughtfully, when again, for the twentieth
time, the door opened, and some one entered whose appearance paralyzed
the conversation.
"Forgotten!" It was a chorus. Then one voice continued: "When one sees
a ghost, Claude, one fears to address it hastily. It might take offence."
Richelieu then strode forward and seized his hand. "He's in the flesh,
messieurs. I am delighted, I am charmed, I am somewhat overcome, dear
Claude. I should have pictured you at this moment flirting in Spain, storming
a seraglio at Constantinople, toasting some estimable fräulein in beer,
drowning yourself in tea and accent in London, or—fighting savages in the
West. Anything but this! Your exile is over, then?"
"My faith, gentlemen, you seem to be but slightly informed of the last
news. Monsieur has been in Paris for a week with Madame the Countess his
wife, and—"
"His wife! Diable!"
"Come, come, then, I was not far wrong. Is she Spanish, Turkish,
German, English, or—by some impossible chance—French? Speak!"
"I have not before had the chance, my lord," returned Claude, bowing.
"However, my tale is not so wonderful. When I went upon my little journey
the King was so gracious as to express the hope that I would return to
Versailles when I should be able to present to him madame my wife. Well—
in the English Americas I was so happy as—to have engaged the affections
of a charming daughter of their excellent aristocracy there. We were married
nearly three months ago in a private chapel by the Father Aimé St. Quentin;
and so, madame being pleased to return with me to Court, we set sail shortly
after the wedding, and—behold me!"
If the question displeased Claude, he did not show it. Shrugging and
smiling with some significance, he moved towards a card-table, and instantly
the estimate of Mme. de Mailly's prestige went up a hundred thousand livres.
The room was now all attention to Claude. He ordered cognac, and his
example was followed by a dozen others. De Gêvres and d'Epernon ceased
their play. Even Richelieu seemed for a moment to be on the point of leaving
the interests of Mlle. Nicolet, but eventually he continued his amusement,
only stopping occasionally to glance around at the group of new sycophants,
biding his own time.
Claude heard, flushed, and turned again to Rohan: "Chevalier, will you
dice?"
"With pleasure."
Cups were produced, and the rest began betting among themselves on the
outcome of the first throws. Odds were not in Rohan's favor.
"Enough, Claude, enough for the time. Come with me. I need you now.
M. Berkley will be always here to welcome you. I—well, I shall not be here
every day. Come."
A few further good-byes, and de Mailly and his old-time friend left the
house together and moved slowly down the street, the Duke leading. Claude
did not speak, for it was for his companion to open conversation. This
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