And now came the peace and the demands for his expulsion from France by Hanoverian George.

Louis found himself in one of those situations which all his life he had done his best to avoid. He had to ask a guest to leave. It was most unpleasant and, because of this, he tried to shelve the matter until the last possible minute.

Meanwhile Charles Edward was seen more and more in public, and he never failed to ingratiate himself with the people. He made regular appearances at the Opéra, and there he was treated as a royal Prince. The audience rose when he entered his box, and he would stand smiling, glittering with jewels, as he accepted the acknowledgement of royalty and popularity.

He was quick to sense the changing attitude towards the King, and smiled a little sadly at the peace celebrations.

‘I cannot help feeling this melancholy,’ he told his friends. ‘I love France. I look upon Frenchmen as I would my own people; and I think of the blood they have shed in this war which now they delude themselves into thinking they have won. The peace! What has it brought France? Tell me that. A little gewgaw for the King’s daughter. Is it such a matter of glory that the eldest daughter of the King of France has become the Duchesse of Parma? A few miserable possessions in America! And of course you rid yourselves of one unwelcome guest; that is if you are going to allow sly George to dictate to you.’

His friends talked of this. Their lackeys heard them, and in the cafés and barbers’ shops, and the streets and markets, the cry was taken up: ‘Are we going to take orders from German George?’

The Princesse de Talmond, who doted on her young lover, was determined to keep him in Paris. She added her by no means insignificant voice to his protests.

Louis meanwhile procrastinated.

‘I think it would be advisable, in view of the peace terms,’ he told Charles Edward, ‘for you to begin to think about leaving France.’

‘Sire,’ answered the Prince, ‘I have already thought about that catastrophe.’

‘Alas that it should be thus,’ murmured Louis. ‘One is in the hands of one’s ministers. There had to be peace, and terms . . .’

With that he changed the subject. He had asked the Prince to think about leaving, and if it were necessary to force him to do so, that would be the duty of others. For the time being he was prepared to let matters stay as they were. Who knew, the affair might blow over. George might forget the young man was in Paris. That would be so much more pleasant.

Louis had other matters to think of. Bellevue was nearing completion. What a delightful château! The Marquise was indeed a remarkable woman. He was fortunate . . . fortunate indeed to have found her.

But George II was not going to allow the young man, who was the greatest menace to his security, to continue at the Court of France where, it was very likely, he would soon be hatching another plot to bring the Stuarts back to the throne; and orders were given that the British Ambassador should drop gentle hints to Louis that there was surprise and indignation across the water because, in spite of the peace terms, the young Stuart Prince still remained in Paris.

The Prince de Talmond was eager for the exile of Charles Edward, as he did not like the scandal which he was causing with the Princesse; and even if Louis was dilatory in sending his exile from France, the Prince de Talmond was ready to make a stand.

He forbade Charles Edward to enter his house, but the young Stuart, so certain that he had the Parisians on his side, continued to call on the Princesse.

When Charles Edward next presented himself at the house of his mistress he was told that she was not at home.

‘That is a lie,’ cried Charles Edward, who felt that as he had succeeded in evading the wishes of the King of France he was not going to submit to those of the Prince de Talmond.

The door was shut and he, suddenly wild with rage and sensing that a defeat in this quarter could be the preliminary to a greater one, began to hammer madly on the door.

A crowd collected to watch the furious Prince, but he was warned by some of his Scottish friends who were with him that it would be foolish to cause such a disturbance, as it might make it easier for the King to insist on his departure.

Charles Edward saw the point, and left. As he walked away he smiled in an easy, friendly way at the crowd, shrugging his shoulders.

‘You see,’ he said, ‘I am not allowed to call on my friends. You know why? It is the wish of German George. My good people, my dear friends, how much longer will you allow yourselves to be ruled by the usurper of the British crown?’

His gallant smiles for the women, his camaraderie with the men, had their effect on the crowd.

‘He is right,’ murmured the people. ‘We won the war, and the British take the spoils.’

That day two women, fighting in Les Halles, collected a huge crowd to watch and jeer, spurring them on to greater efforts.

One, a vegetable vendor, had the other, a coffee-seller, by the hair, so that the tin urn on her back went clattering onto the cobbles and both women lay in a pool of coffee.

‘Idiot!’ cried the vegetable woman. ‘Pig! Let me tell you this: You are as stupid as . . . as the peace.’

The crowd roared its approval. A new catch phrase was born: ‘As stupid as the peace.’


* * *

The King summoned Comte Phélippeaux de Maurepas to his presence. He liked Maurepas. The man was so amusing; he never made heavy going of state affairs and treated everything as though it were a joke. He was so witty that it was always a pleasure to be with him. It was said by his enemies that he was more interested in writing a witty satire or epigram than in considering affairs of state.

He had suffered from the withdrawal of royal favour on the insistence of Madame de Châteauroux after her humiliation at Metz, and now Louis feared that Maurepas was not attempting to please Madame de Pompadour. This impish man was ready to snap his fingers at the King’s mistresses – which was foolish of him; but Louis could not help liking him.

Now he called in his help in this matter of Charles Edward Stuart.

‘There can be no longer delay,’ he told Maurepas. ‘There will be trouble with Great Britain if he remains here. It is a part of the peace treaty, and we must carry out our obligations.’

‘Sire, it is a delicate matter. The Prince declares that he holds letters from you, offering him refuge as long as he desires it.’

Louis shrugged his shoulders. ‘One cannot look into the future. Such offers were made years ago when there seemed a fair prospect of his gaining his kingdom.’

‘Sire,’ replied the minister, ‘public opinion is strong in favour of this Prince. He has a certain charm, and he has used this to the full. The people are saying that asylum was offered him and France should honour her pledges.’

The King turned away testily. ‘It is precisely because we must honour our pledges that he must go.’

‘It being more important, Sire, to honour pledges given to a powerful nation than to an exile.’

‘That is true,’ said the King.

‘And our people, who ask us to snap our fingers at German George and keep the pretty Stuart with us to charm our theatre audiences and seduce our ladies?’

‘This is a matter of diplomacy.’

‘They may murmur instead of cheer, Sire. They may sympathise with the pretty Prince against their handsome King?’

‘The people!’ cried Louis contemptuously.

‘They will say our King promised to befriend this romantic young man.’

‘It is impossible for a king to be a true friend on all occasions.’

‘And indeed this is one of them, Sire.’

Louis wondered why he allowed Maurepas to delay him in this contradictory manner. Yet he knew why; the man amused him. He was too careless of his future – or perhaps too sure of it – to ponder before he spoke. No doubt that was why the King enjoyed his company more than that of many of his courtiers.

He said almost curtly: ‘If the Prince will not go of his own accord, he must be arrested and ejected.’

‘There would be a scandal, Sire. The people might prevent his arrest.’

Louis shuddered. He could see an unpleasant incident growing out of a situation which was really of no great importance. Charles Edward, a wandering exile, was an insignificant person. It seemed absurd that the peace of Paris and of the King should be disturbed on his account.

‘That is why I wish you to deal with this matter. Go now to the Prince. Warn him to leave Paris without delay. Tell him that if he does not, tonight he is to be arrested. Stress that we have delayed too long and do not intend to wait any longer. He should be gone by nightfall.’

Maurepas bowed.


* * *

In the company of the Duc de Gesvres, Maurepas called on Charles Edward in a house which he had rented in the Quai des Theatins.

Charles Edward received them with that air of bonhomie which he extended to all.

‘This is a delight,’ he declared. ‘Welcome to my exiled dwelling.’

‘Sir,’ said Maurepas, ‘before Your Highness welcomes us so wholeheartedly, I pray you listen to what we have to say, for when you have heard it you may wish to moderate that welcome or perhaps not give it at all.’

‘This sounds ominous,’ said Charles Edward.

‘Alas that we should be the bearers of such news,’ murmured de Gesvres.

‘In point of fact,’ went on Maurepas, ‘we come on a mission from His Majesty. He asks you to leave this country before nightfall. If you do so he will continue with your allowance.’