"You say "impossible"; reflect on the power of those who have for so long played with my reputation. You say that M. de Rohan is convinced of what he a.s.serts; those who cause such convictions would not be long in proving you a disloyal subject to the king, and a disgraceful friend for me. Those who invent so easily what is false will not be long in discovering the truth. Lose no time, therefore; the peril is great.
Retire, and fly from the scandal which will ensue from the approaching trial; I do not wish that my destiny should involve yours, or your future be ruined. I, who am, thank G.o.d, innocent, and without a stain on my life--I, who would lay bare my heart to my enemies, could they thus read its purity, will resist to the last. For you might come ruin, defamation, and perhaps imprisonment. Take away the money you so n.o.bly offered me, and the a.s.surance that not one movement of your generous heart has escaped me, and that your doubts, though they have wounded, have not estranged me. Go, I say, and seek elsewhere what the Queen of France can no longer give you--hope and happiness. From this time to the convocation of Parliament, and the production of witnesses must be a fortnight; your uncle has vessels ready to sail--go and leave me; I bring misfortunes on my friends." Saying this, the queen rose, and seemed to give Charny his conge.
He approached quickly, but respectfully. "Your majesty," cried he, in a moved voice, "shows me my duty. It is here that danger awaits you, here that you are to be judged, and, that you may have one loyal witness on your side, I remain here. Perhaps we may still make your enemies tremble before the majesty of an innocent queen, and the courage of a devoted man. And if you wish it, madame, I will be equally hidden and unseen as though I went. During a fortnight that I lived within a hundred yards of you, watching your every movement, counting your steps, living in your life, no one saw me; I can do so again, if it please you."
"As you please," replied she; "I am no coquette, M. de Charny, and to say what I please is the true privilege of a queen. One day, sir, I chose you from every one. I do not know what drew my heart towards you, but I had need of a strong and pure friendship, and I allowed you to perceive that need; but now I see that your soul does not respond to mine, and I tell you so frankly."
"Oh, madame," cried Charny, "I cannot let you take away your heart from me! If you have once given it to me, I will keep it with my life; I cannot lose you. You reproached me with my doubts--oh, do not doubt me!"
"Ah," said she, "but you are weak, and I, alas, am so also."
"You are all I love you to be."
"What!" cried she, pa.s.sionately, "this abused queen, this woman about to be publicly judged, that the world condemns, and that her king and husband may, perhaps, also in turn condemn, has she found one heart to love her?"
"A slave, who venerates her, and offers her his heart"s blood in exchange for every pang he has caused her!"
"Then," cried she, "this woman is blessed and happy, and complains of nothing!"
Charny fell at her feet, and kissed her hands in transport. At that moment the door opened, and the king surprised, at the feet of his wife, the man whom he had just heard accused by the Comte de Provence.
CHAPTER Lx.x.x.
THE PROPOSAL OF MARRIAGE.
The queen and Charny exchanged a look so full of terror, that their most cruel enemy must have pitied them.
Charny rose slowly, and bowed to the king, whose heart might almost have been seen to beat.
"Ah!" cried he, in a hoa.r.s.e voice, "M. de Charny!"
The queen could not speak--she thought she was lost.
"M. de Charny," repeated the king, "it is little honorable for a gentleman to be taken in the act of theft."
"Of theft?" murmured Charny.
"Yes, sir, to kneel before the wife of another is a theft; and when this woman is a queen, his crime is called high treason!"
The count was about to speak, but the queen, ever impatient in her generosity, forestalled him.
"Sire," said she, "you seem in the mood for evil suspicions and unfavorable suppositions, which fall falsely, I warn you; and if respect chains the count"s tongue, I will not hear him wrongfully accused without defending him." Here she stopped, overcome by emotion, frightened at the falsehood she was about to tell, and bewildered because she could not find one to utter.
But these few words had somewhat softened the king, who replied more gently, "You will not tell me, madame, that I did not see M. de Charny kneeling before you, and without your attempting to raise him?"
"Therefore you might think," replied she, "that he had some favor to ask me."
"A favor?"
"Yes, sire, and one which I could not easily grant, or he would not have insisted with so much less warmth."
Charny breathed again, and the king"s look became calmer. Marie Antoinette was searching for something to say, with mingled rage at being obliged to lie, and grief at not being able to think of anything probable to say. She half hoped the king would be satisfied, and ask no more, but he said:
"Let us hear, madame, what is the favor so warmly solicited, which made M. de Charny kneel before you; I may, perhaps, more happy than you, be able to grant it."
She hesitated; to lie before the man she loved was agony to her, and she would have given the world for Charny to find the answer. But of this he was incapable.
"Sire, I told you that M. de Charny asked an impossible thing."
"What is it?"
"What can one ask on one"s knees?"
"I want to hear."
"Sire, it is a family secret."
"There are no secrets from the king--a father interested in all his subjects, who are his children, although, like unnatural children, they may sometimes attack the honor and safety of their father."
This speech made the queen tremble anew.
"M. de Charny asked," replied she, "permission to marry."
"Really," cried the king, rea.s.sured for a moment. Then, after a pause, he said, "But why should it be impossible for M. de Charny to marry? Is he not n.o.ble? Has he not a good fortune? Is he not brave and handsome?
Really, to refuse him, the lady ought to be a princess, or already married. I can see no other reason for an impossibility. Therefore, madame, tell me the name of the lady who is loved by M. de Charny, and let me see if I cannot remove the difficulty."
The queen, forced to continue her falsehood, replied:
"No, sire; there are difficulties which even you cannot remove, and the present one is of this nature."
"Still, I wish to hear," replied the king, his anger returning.
Charny looked at the queen--she seemed ready to faint. He made a step towards her and then drew back. How dared he approach her in the king"s presence?
"Oh!" thought she, "for an idea--something that the king can neither doubt nor disbelieve." Then suddenly a thought struck her. She who has dedicated herself to heaven the king cannot influence. "Sire!" she cried, "she whom M. de Charny wishes to marry is in a convent."
"Oh! that is a difficulty; no doubt. But this seems a very sudden love of M. de Charny"s. I have never heard of it from any one. Who is the lady you love, M. de Charny?"
The queen felt in despair, not knowing what he would say, and dreading to hear him name any one. But Charny could not reply: so, after a pause, she cried, "Sire, you know her; it is Andree de Taverney."
Charny buried his face in his hands; the queen pressed her hand to her heart, and could hardly support herself.
"Mademoiselle de Taverney? but she has gone to St. Denis."
"Yes, sire," replied the queen.