The Cardinal's Musketeer by Mary Imlay Taylor

IT was the evening of the day following that on which Péron was proclaimed Marquis de Nancay, and he sat at a small table in the pastry shop on the Rue des Petits Champs. He was waiting for Père Antoine, who had promised to meet him there with tidings of mademoiselle. Pilâtre de Marsou, the late M. de Nancay, had been privately buried from the Church of St. Nicholas des Champs, no one following his corpse to the cemetery but his daughter and M. de Vesson -- so easily is a fallen man deserted, even at the last hour. Péron was anxious to hear of Renée, to know how she had received the tidings of the fearful change in her rank and condition, and to be assured that she fully understood that he was innocent of her father's death. All these things Père Antoine had undertaken, promising to comfort mademoiselle in her affliction, and to clear the new marquis of blame. With all his confidence in the good father, Péron was uneasy and perplexed. He would gladly have gone to Renée in her trouble had not delicacy forbidden an intrusion, but he had sent one message to her by Père Antoine, and that was to assure her that both the Château de Nancay and the house on the Rue St. Thomas du Louvre, though properly his, were at her service for an indefinite period, and that her possession would not be disturbed. However, he knew mademoiselle well enough to expect only a proud defiance of his kindness, though his heart ached for the houseless and penniless orphan whom the grim justice of the cardinal had put in the place that he had occupied when a poor boy on the Rue de la Ferronnerie, dependent on the charity of Jacques des Horloges.

Certainly a great change had come over his own circumstances since the announcement in the gallery of the Palais Cardinal. He had been received with flattering demonstrations of friendship; princes and great ladies, noblemen and courtiers, had crowded around him with effusive cordiality. The unknown musketeer of monsignor's guard was the lion of the Marais. All the morning he had been beset with pages and serving-men bearing invitations. M. le Marquis was wanted to dine, to sup, to dance, to play cards, to hunt; the cardinal had presented him to the king; the queen had given him her hand to kiss; M. le Grand had greeted him as a long-lost friend; Monsieur had smiled, forgetful of the house in Poissy; and the Prince de Condé had shown genuine pleasure in his former protégé's good fortune. It was overwhelming and a little bewildering; but none of it pleased the new marquis so much as the tearful joy of good Madame Michel, the honest delight of Jacques des Horloges and Archambault, and above all the blessing of Père Antoine.