THE JEALOUSY OF THE CARDINAL.
The cardinal pa.s.sed three nights very different to those when he went to the park, and which he constantly lived over again in his memory. No news of any one, no hope of a visit; nothing but a dead silence, and perfect darkness, after such brightness and happiness. He began to fear that, after all, his sacrifice had been displeasing to the queen. His uneasiness became insupportable. He sent ten times in one day to Madame de la Motte: the tenth messenger brought Jeanne to him. On seeing her he cried out, "How! you live so tranquilly; you know my anxiety, and you, my friend, never come near me."
"Oh, monseigneur, patience, I beg. I have been far more useful to you at Versailles than I could have been here."
"Tell me," replied he, "what does she say? Is she less cruel?"
"Absence is equal pain, whether borne at Versailles or at Paris."
"Oh, I thank you, but the proofs----"
"Proofs! Are you in your senses, monseigneur, to ask a woman for proofs of her own infidelity?"
"I am not speaking of proofs for a lawsuit, countess, only a token of love."
"It seems to me that you are either very exacting or very forgetful."
"Oh! I know you will tell me that I might be more than satisfied. But judge by yourself, countess; would you like to be thrown on one side, after having received a.s.surances of favor?"
"a.s.surances!"
"Oh, certainly, I have nothing to complain of, but still----"
"I cannot be answerable for unreasonable discontents."
"Countess, you treat me ill. Instead of reproaching me for my folly, you should try to aid me."
"I cannot aid you. I see nothing to do."
"Nothing to do?"
"No."
"Well, madame, I do not say the same."
"Ah, monseigneur, anger will not help you; and besides, you are unjust."
"No, countess; if you do not a.s.sist me any longer, I know it is because you cannot. Only tell me the truth at once."
"What truth?"
"That the queen is a perfidious coquette, who makes people adore her, and then drives them to despair."
Jeanne looked at him with an air of surprise, although she had expected him to arrive at this state, and she felt really pleased, for she thought that it would help her out of her difficult position. "Explain yourself," she said.
"Confess that the queen refuses to see me."
"I do not say so, monseigneur."
"She wishes to keep me away lest I should rouse the suspicions of some other lover."
"Ah, monseigneur!" cried Jeanne in a tone which gave him liberty to suspect anything.
"Listen," continued he; "the last time I saw her, I thought I heard steps in the wood----"
"Folly!"
"And I suspect----"
"Say no more, monseigneur. It is an insult to the queen; besides, even if it were true that she fears the surveillance of another lover, why should you reproach her with a past which she has sacrificed to you?"
"But if this past be again a present, and about to be a future?"
"Fie, monseigneur, your suspicions are offensive both to the queen and to me."
"Then, countess, bring me a proof--does she love me at all?"
"It is very simple," replied Jeanne, pointing to his writing table, "to ask her."
"You will give her a note?"
"Who else would, if not I?"
"And you will bring me an answer?"
"If possible."
"Ah! now you are a good creature, countess."
He sat down, but though he was an eloquent writer, he commenced and destroyed a dozen sheets of paper before he satisfied himself.
"If you go on so, you will never have done," said Jeanne.
"You see, countess, I fear my own tenderness, lest I displease the queen."
"Oh," replied Jeanne, "if you write a business letter, you will get one in reply. That is your own affair."
"You are right, countess; you always see what is best." He then wrote a letter, so full of loving reproaches and ardent protestations, that Jeanne, when he gave it to her to read, thought, "He has written of his own accord what I never should have dared to dictate."
"Will it do?" asked he.
"If she loves you. You will see to-morrow: till then be quiet."
"Till to-morrow, then."
On her return home Jeanne gave way to her reflections. This letter was just what she wanted. How could the cardinal ever accuse her, when he was called on to pay for the necklace? Even admitting that the queen and cardinal met, and that everything was explained, how could they turn against her while she held in her hands such proofs of a scandalous secret? No, they must let her go quietly off with her fortune of a million and a half of francs. They would know she had stolen the diamonds, but they never would publish all this affair; and if one letter was not enough, she would have seven or eight. The first explosion would come from the jewelers, who would claim their money.
Then she must confess to M. de Rohan, and make him pay by threatening to publish his letters. Surely they would purchase the honor of a queen and a prince at the price of a million and a half! The jewelers once paid, that question was at an end; Jeanne felt sure of her fortune. She knew that the cardinal had a conviction so firm that nothing could shake it, that he had met the queen. There was but one living witness against her, and that one she would soon cause to disappear. Arrived at this point, she went to the window and saw Oliva, who was watching in her balcony.