So the tide of benefactions flowed until it was calculated that the Polignac family were drawing half a million livres every year as the fruits of the Queen’s partiality for her favourite.  Little wonder that, at a time when France was groaning under dire poverty, the volume of curses should swell against the “Austrian panther,” who could thus squander gold while her subjects were starving; or that the Court should be inflamed by jealousy at such favours shown to a family so obscure as the Polignacs.

To the warnings of her own family Marie Antoinette was deaf.  What cared she for such exhibitions of spite and jealousy?  She was Queen; and if she wished to be generous to her favourite’s family, none should say her nay.  And thus, with a smile half-careless, half-defiant, she went to meet the doom which, though she little dreamt it, awaited her.

The Duchesse was now promoted to the office of governess of the Queen’s children, a position which was the prerogative of Royalty itself, or, at least, of the very highest nobility.  With her usual modesty, she had fought long against the promotion; but the Queen’s will was law, and she had to submit to the inevitable as gracefully as she could.  And now we see her installed in the most splendid apartments at Versailles, holding a salon almost as regal as that of Marie Antoinette herself.

She was surrounded by sycophants and place-seekers, eager to capture the Queen’s favour through her.  And such was her influence that a word from her was powerful enough to make or mar a minister.  She held, in fact, the reins of power and was now more potent than the weak-kneed King himself.

It was at this stage in her brilliant career that the Duchesse came under the spell of the Comte de Vaudreuil—­handsome, courtly, an intriguer to his finger-tips, a man of many accomplishments, of a supple tongue, and with great wealth to lend a glamour to his gifts.  A man of rare fascination, and as dangerous as he was fascinating.

The woman who had carried a level head through so much unaccustomed splendour and power became the veriest slave of this handsome, honey-tongued Comte, who ruled her, as she in turn ruled the Queen.  At his bidding she made and unmade ministers; she obtained for him pensions and high offices, and robbed the treasury of nearly two million livres to fill his pockets.  When Marie Antoinette at last ventured to thwart the Comte in his ambition to become the Dauphin’s Governor, he retaliated by poisoning the Duchesse’s mind against her, and bringing about the first estrangement between the friends.

Torn between her infatuation for Vaudreuil and her love of the Queen, the Duchesse was in an awkward dilemma.  It became necessary to choose between the two rivals; and that Vaudreuil’s spell proved the stronger, her increasing coldness to Marie Antoinette soon proved.  It was the “rift within the lute” which was to make the music of their friendship mute.  The Queen gradually withdrew herself from the Duchesse’s salon, where she was sure to meet the insolent Vaudreuil; and thus the gulf gradually widened until the severance was complete.