"There is no distinction in the eyes of justice."
"Ah!" cried Jeanne, "this is the queen"s doings; I recognize the hands of an enemy."
"You are wrong to accuse the queen; she has nothing to do with the orders of the court. Come, madame, I beg you to spare me the necessity of violence, and kneel down."
"Never!" and she planted herself firmly in a corner of the room.
The registrar then signed to the two other men, who, approaching, seized her, and in spite of her cries dragged her into the middle of the room.
But she bounded up again.
"Let me stand," said she, "and I will listen patiently."
"Madame, whenever criminals are punished by whipping, they kneel to receive the sentence."
"Whipping!" screamed Jeanne; "miserable wretch, how dare you----"
The men forced her on her knees once more, and held her down, but she struggled so furiously that they called out, "Read quickly, monsieur, for we cannot hold her."
"I will never hear such an infamous sentence," she cried; and indeed she drowned his voice so effectually with her screams, that although he read, not a word could be heard.
He replaced his papers in his pocket, and she, thinking he had finished, stopped her cries. Then he said, "And the sentence shall be executed at the place of executions, Cour de Justice."
"Publicly!" screamed she.
"Monsieur de Paris, I deliver you this woman," said the registrar, addressing the man with the leathern ap.r.o.n.
"Who is this man?" cried Jeanne, in a fright.
"The executioner," replied the registrar.
The two men then took hold of her to lead her out, but her resistance was so violent that they were obliged to drag her along by force, and she never ceased uttering the most frantic cries. They took her thus into the court called Cour de Justice, where there was a scaffold and which was crowded with spectators. On a platform, raised about eight feet, was a post garnished with iron rings, and with a ladder to mount to it. This place was surrounded with soldiers. When she appeared, cries of "Here she is!" mingled with much abuse, were heard from the crowd.
Numbers of the partisans of M. de Rohan had a.s.sembled to hoot her, and cries of "A bas la Motte, the forger!" were heard on every side, and those who tried to express pity for her were soon silenced. Then she cried in a loud voice, "Do you know who I am? I am of the blood of your kings. They strike in me, not a criminal, but a rival; not only a rival, but an accomplice. Yes," repeated she, as the people kept silence to kept listen, "an accomplice. They punish one who knows the secrets of----"
"Take care," interrupted the registrar.
She turned and saw the executioner with the whip in his hand. At this sight she forgot her desire to captivate the mult.i.tude, and even her hatred, and sinking on her knees she said, "Have pity!" and seized his hand; but he raised the other, and let the whip fall lightly on her shoulders. She jumped up, and was about to try and throw herself off the scaffold, when she saw the other man, who was drawing from a fire a hot iron. At this sight she uttered a perfect howl, which was echoed by the people.
"Help! help!" she cried, trying to shake off the cord with which they were tying her hands. The executioner at last forced her on her knees, and tore open her dress; but she cried, with a voice which was heard through all the tumult, "Cowardly Frenchmen! you do not defend me, but let me be tortured; oh! it is my own fault. If I had said all I knew of the queen I should have been----"
She could say no more, for she was gagged by the attendants: then two men held her, while the executioner performed his office. At the touch of the iron she fainted, and was carried back insensible to the Conciergerie when the crowd gradually dispersed.
CHAPTER XCII.
THE MARRIAGE.
On the same day at noon the king entered a drawing-room, where the queen was sitting in full dress, but pale through her rouge, and surrounded by a party of ladies and gentlemen. He glanced frequently towards the door.
"Are not the young couple ready? I believe it is noon," he said.
"Sire, M. de Charny is waiting in the gallery for your majesty"s orders," said the queen, with a violent effort.
"Oh! let him come in." The queen turned from the door. "The bride ought to be here also," continued the king, "it is time."
"Your majesty must excuse Mademoiselle de Taverney, if she is late,"
replied M. de Charny, advancing; "for since the death of her father she has not left her bed until to-day, and she fainted when she did so."
"This dear child loved her father so much," replied the king, "but we hope a good husband will console her. M. de Breteuil," said he, turning to that gentleman, "have you made out the order of banishment for M. de Cagliostro?"
"Yes, sire."
"And that De la Motte. Is it not to-day she is to be branded?"
At this moment, Andree appeared, dressed in white like a bride, and with cheeks nearly as white as her dress. She advanced leaning on her brother"s arm. M. de Suffren, leading his nephew, came to meet her, and then drew back to allow her to approach the king.
"Mademoiselle," said Louis, taking her hand, "I begged of you to hasten this marriage, instead of waiting until the time of your mourning had expired, that I might have the pleasure of a.s.sisting at the ceremony; for to-morrow I and the queen commence a tour through France." And he led Andree up to the queen, who could hardly stand, and did not raise her eyes. The king then, putting Andree"s hand into Philippe"s, said, "Gentlemen, to the chapel,"--and they began to move. The queen kneeled on her prie Dieu, her face buried in her hands, praying for strength.
Charny, though pale as death, feeling that all eyes were upon him, appeared calm and strong. Andree remained immovable as a statue; she did not pray--she had nothing to ask, to hope for, or to fear. The ceremony over, the king kissed Andree on the forehead, saying, "Madame la Comtesse, go to the queen, she wishes to give you a wedding present."
"Oh!" murmured Andree to Philippe, "it is too much; I can bear no more; I cannot do that."
"Courage, sister, one effort more."
"I cannot, Philippe; if she speaks to me, I shall die."
"Then, you will be happier than I, for I cannot die."
Andree said no more, but went to the queen. She found her in her chair with closed eyes and clasped hands, seeming more dead than alive, except for the shudders which, shook her from time to time. Andree waited tremblingly to hear her speak; but, after a minute, she rose slowly, and took from the table a paper, which she put into Andree"s hands. Andree opened it, and read:
"Andree, you have saved me. My honor comes from you; my life belongs to you. In the name of this honor, which has cost you so dear, I swear to you that you may call me sister without blushing.
This paper is the pledge of my grat.i.tude, the dowry which I give you. Your heart is n.o.ble and will thank me for this gift.
"MARIE ANTOINETTE DE LORRAINE D"AUTRICHE."
Andree looked at the queen, and saw tears falling from her eyes; she seemed expecting an answer, but Andree, putting the letter in the fire, turned and left the room. Then Charny, who was waiting for her, took her hand, and they, each pale and silent, left the room. Two traveling-carriages were in the courtyard; Andree got into one, and then said:
"Sir, I believe you go to Picardy."
"Yes, madame."
"And I to where my mother lies dead. Adieu, monsieur."
Charny bowed, but did not reply, and Andree drove off.
Charny himself, after giving his hand to Philippe, got into the other, and also drove off.
Then Philippe cried, in a tone of anguish, "My task is done!" and he too vanished.