m. de charny entered, a little pale, but upright, and not apparently suffering.
“take care, sister,” said the comte d’artois; “what is the use of asking so many people?”
“brother, i will ask the whole world, till i meet some one who will tell you you are deceived.”
charny and philippe bowed courteously to each other, and philippe said in a low voice, “you are surely mad to come out wounded; one would say you wished to die.”
“one does not die from the scratch of a thorn in the bois de boulogne,” replied charny.
the queen approached, and put an end to this conversation. “m. de charny,” said she, “these gentlemen say that you were at the ball at the opera?”
“yes, your majesty.”
“tell us what you saw there.”
“does your majesty mean whom i saw there?”
“precisely; and no complaisant reserve, m. de charny.”
“must i say, madame?”
the cheeks of the queen assumed once more that deadly paleness, which had many times that morning alternated with a burning red.
“did you see me?” she asked.
“yes, your majesty, at the moment when your mask unhappily fell off.”
marie antoinette clasped her hands.
“monsieur,” said she, almost sobbing, “look at me well; are you sure of what you say?”
“madame, your features are engraved in the hearts of your subjects; to see your majesty once is to see you forever.”
“but, monsieur,” said she, “i assure you i was not at the ball at the opera.”
“oh, madame,” said the young man, bowing low, “has not your majesty the right to go where you please?”
“i do not ask you to find excuses for me; i only ask you to believe.”
“i will believe all your majesty wishes me to believe,” cried he.
“sister, sister, it is too much,” murmured the count.
“no one believes me!” cried she, throwing herself on the sofa, with tears in her eyes.
“sister, pardon me,” said the count tenderly, “you are surrounded by devoted friends; this secret, which terrifies you so, we alone know. it is confined to our hearts, and no one shall drag it from us while we have life.”
“this secret! oh, i want nothing but to prove the truth.”
“madame,” said andrée, “some one approaches.”
the king was announced.
“the king! oh, so much the better. he is my only friend; he would not believe me guilty even if he thought he saw me.”
the king entered with an air of calmness, in strange contrast to the disturbed countenances of those present.
“sire,” said the queen, “you come àpropos; there is yet another calumny, another insult to combat.”
“what is it?” said louis, advancing.
“an infamous report. aid me, sire, for now it is no longer my enemies that accuse me, but my friends.”
“your friends!”
“yes, sire; m. le comte d’artois, m. de taverney, and m. de charny affirm that they saw me at the ball at the opera.”
“at the ball at the opera!” cried the king.
a terrible silence ensued.
madame de la motte saw the mortal paleness of the queen, the terrible disquietude of the king and of all the others, and with one word she could have put an end to all this, and saved the queen, not only now, but in the future, from much distress. but she said to herself that it was too late; that they would see, if she spoke now, that she had deceived them before when the simple truth would have been of such advantage to the queen, and she should forfeit her newly-acquired favor. so she remained silent.
the king repeated, with an air of anguish, “at the ball at the opera! does m. de provence know this?”
“but, sire, it is not true. m. le comte d’artois is deceived; m. de taverney is deceived; m. de charny, you are deceived, one may be mistaken.”
all bowed.
“come,” continued she, “call all my people, ask every one. you say it was saturday?”
“yes, sister.”
“well, what did i do on saturday? let some one tell me, for i think i am going mad, and shall begin at last to believe that i did go to this infamous ball. but, gentlemen, if i had been there i would have confessed it.”
at this moment the king approached her, every cloud gone from his brow. “well, marie,” said he, “if it was saturday, there is no need to call your women, or only to ask them at what hour i came to your room. i believe it was past eleven.”
“oh!” cried the queen, joyfully, “you are right, sire.” and she threw herself into his arms; then, blushing and confused, she hid her face on his shoulder, while he kissed her tenderly.
“well,” said the comte d’artois, full of both surprise and joy, “i will certainly buy spectacles. but on my word, i would not have lost this scene for a million of money. would you, gentlemen?”
philippe was leaning against the wainscot as pale as death. charny wiped the burning drops from his forehead.
“therefore, gentlemen,” said the king, turning towards them, “i know it to be impossible that the queen was that night at the ball at the opera. believe it or not, as you please. the queen i am sure is content that i know her to be innocent.”
“well,” said m. d’artois, “provence may say what he pleases, but i defy his wife to prove an alibi in the same way, if she should be accused of passing the night out.”
“charles!”
“pardon, sire, now i will take my leave.”
“well, i will go with you.” and once more kissing the queen’s hand, they left the room.
“m. de taverney,” said the queen severely, when they were gone, “do you not accompany m. d’artois?”
philippe started, all the blood rushed to his head, and he had hardly strength to bow and leave the room.
andrée was to be pitied also. she knew that philippe would have given the world to have taken m. de charny away with him, but she felt as though she could not follow to comfort him, leaving charny alone with the queen, or only with madame de la motte, who, she instinctively felt, was worse than no one. but why this feeling? she could not love charny; that, she told herself, was impossible. so slight and recent an acquaintance, and she who had vowed to love no one. why then did she suffer so much when charny addressed words of such respectful devotion to the queen? was not this jealousy? “yes,” she thought, but only jealousy that this woman should draw all hearts towards her, while the whole world of gallantry and love passed her coldly by. it was no attraction to be a living problem, ever cold and reserved like andrée; they felt it, turned from her beauty and her intellect, and contented themselves with mere politeness. andrée felt this deeply; but on the night when they first met charny, he showed towards her nothing of this coldness or reserve; she was to him as interesting as any other beautiful woman, and she felt cheered and warmed by it. but now the queen absorbed his every look and thought, and left her lonely again; therefore she did not follow her brother, although she suffered in his sufferings, and almost idolized him. she did not, however, attempt to mingle in the conversation, but sat down by the fire almost with her back to the queen and charny, while madame de la motte stood in one of the deep windows, nearly out of sight, although she could observe all that passed.
the queen remained silent for some minutes, then she said, almost to herself, “would any one believe that such things pass here?” then, turning to charny, said, “we hear, sir, of the dangers of the sea and of the fury of tempests, but you have doubtless encountered all their assaults, and you are still safe and honored.”
“madame——”
“then the english, our enemies, have attacked you with their guns and their power, but still you are safe; and on account of the enemies you have conquered, the king felicitates and admires you, and the people bless and love you; therefore, blessed are such enemies who menace us only with death. our enemies do not endanger existence, it is true, but they add years to our lives; they make us bow the head, fearing, though innocent, to meet, as i have done, the double attacks of friends and enemies. and then, sir, if you knew how hard it is to be hated!”
andrée listened anxiously for his reply, but he only leaned against the wall, and grew pale.
the queen looked at him, and said, “it is too hot here; madame de la motte, open the window; monsieur is accustomed to the fresh sea-breezes; he would stifle in our boudoirs.”
“it is not that, madame; but i am on duty at two o’clock, and unless your majesty wishes me to remain——”
“oh! no, monsieur; we know what duty is. you are free,” said the queen, in a tone of slight pique.
charny bowed, and disappeared like a man in haste; but in a minute they heard from the ante-chamber the sound of a groan, and people hurrying forward. the queen, who was near the door, opened it, and uttered an exclamation; and was going out, when andrée rose quickly, saying, “oh no! madame.”
then they saw through the open door the guards assisting m. de charny, who had fainted. the queen closed the door, and sat down again, pensive and thoughtful. at last, she said, “it is an odd thing, but i do not believe m. de charny was convinced!”
“oh, madame! in spite of the king’s word—impossible!”
“he may have thought the king said it for his own sake.”
“my brother was not so incredulous,” said andrée.
“it would be very wrong,” continued the queen, not heeding her; “he could not have as noble a heart as i thought. but, after all, why should he believe? he thought he saw me. they all thought so. there is something in all this; something which i must clear up. andrée, i must find out what it all means.”
“your majesty is right; you must investigate it.”
“for,” continued the queen, “people said they saw me at m. mesmer’s.”
“but your majesty was there,” said madame de la motte.
“yes; but i did not do what they insist they saw me do. and they saw me at the opera, and i was not there. oh!” cried she, “at last i guess the truth.”
“the truth!” stammered the countess.
“oh! i hope so,” said andrée.
“send for m. de crosne,” said the queen, joyously.
