"Ah, you will laugh at us, M. l"Americain; you, who have traversed lakes where there are more miles than we have feet here."
"Madame," replied Philippe, "here you amuse yourself with the cold, but there they die of it."
"Ah, here is my chocolate; Andree, take a cup with me."
Andree bowed, coloring with pleasure.
"You see, M. de Taverney, I am always the same, hating all etiquette, as in old times. Do you remember those old days? Are you changed since then, M. Philippe?"
"No, madame," replied the young man, "I am not changed--at least, not in heart."
"Well, I am glad to hear that, for it was a good one. A cup for M. de Taverney, Madame de Misery."
"Oh, madame!" cried Philippe, "you cannot mean it; such an honor for a poor obscure soldier like me."
"An old friend," said the queen; "this day seems to remind me of my youth; I seem again happy, free, proud and yet foolish. This day recalls to me that happy time at my dear Trianon, and all our frolics there, Andree and I together. This day brings back to my memory my roses, my strawberries, and my birds, that I was so fond of, all, even to my good gardeners, whose happy faces often announced to me a new flower or a delicious fruit; and M. de Jussieu and that original old Rousseau, who is since dead. But come," continued she, herself pouring the chocolate into his cup, "you are a soldier, and accustomed to fire, so burn yourself gloriously with this chocolate, for I am in a hurry."
She laughed, but Philippe, taking it seriously, drank it off most heroically.
The queen saw him, and laughing still more, said, "You are indeed a perfect hero, M. de Taverney." She then rose, and her woman brought her bonnet, ermine mantle, and gloves.
Philippe took his hat under his arm, and followed her and Andree out.
"M. de Taverney, I do not mean you to leave me," said the queen. "Come round to my right."
They went down the great staircase; the drums were beating, the clarions of the body-guard were playing, and this whole scene, and the enthusiasm everywhere shown towards that beautiful queen by whose side he was walking, completed the intoxication of the young man. The change was too sudden, after so many years of exile and regret, to such great joy and honor.
CHAPTER IX.
THE SWISS LAKE.
Every one knows this piece of water, which still goes by the same name.
An avenue of linden trees skirts each bank, and these avenues were on this day thronged with pedestrians, of all ranks and ages, who had come to enjoy the sight of the sledges and the skating. The toilets of the ladies presented a brilliant spectacle of luxury and gaiety, their high coiffures, gay bonnets with the veils half down, fur mantles, and brilliant silks with deep flounces, were mingled with the orange or blue coats of the gentlemen.
Gay lackeys also, in blue and red, pa.s.sed among the crowd, looking like poppies and cornflowers blown about by the wind.
Now and then a cry of admiration burst from the crowd, as St. George, the celebrated skater, executed some circle so perfect, that a mathematician could scarcely have found a fault in it.
While the banks of the lake were thus crowded, the ice itself presented a scene not less gay, and still more animated: sledges flew about in all directions. Several dogs, clothed in embroidered velvet, and with plumes of feathers on their heads, looking like fabulous animals, drew a sledge in which sat M. de Lauzun, who was wrapped up in a tiger skin. Here you might see a lady masked, doubtless on account of the cold, in some sledge of a quieter character, while a handsome skater, in a velvet riding-coat, hangs over the back, to a.s.sist and direct her progress; whatever they may be saying to each other is quite inaudible, amidst this busy hum of voices; but who can blame a rendezvous which takes place in the open air, and under the eyes of all Versailles? and whatever they may be saying matters to no one else: it is evident that in the midst of this crowd their life is an isolated one; they think only of each other.
All at once a general movement in the crowd announces that they have recognized the queen, who is approaching the lake. A general cry of "Vive la reine!" is heard, and all endeavor to approach as nearly as possible to the place where she has stationed herself. One person alone does not appear to share this feeling, for on her approach he disappears with all his suite as fast as possible in the opposite direction.
"Do you see," said the Comte d"Artois to the queen, whom he had hastened to join, "how my brother Provence flies from you?"
"He fears that I should reproach him."
"Oh, no; it is not that that makes him fly."
"It is his conscience, then."
"Not even that, sister."
"What then?"
"I will tell you. He had just heard that M. de Suffren, our glorious commander, will arrive this evening; and as the news is important, he wishes to leave you in ignorance of it."
"But is the Minister of Marine ignorant of this arrival?"
"Ah, mon Dieu, sister, have you not learned enough of ministers, during the fourteen years you have pa.s.sed here, as dauphiness and queen, to know that they are always ignorant of precisely what they ought to know?
However, I have told him about this, and he is deeply grateful."
"I should think so," said the queen.
"Yes, and I have need of his grat.i.tude, for I want a loan."
"Oh," cried the queen, laughing, "how disinterested you are."
"Sister," said he, "you must want money; I offer you half of what I am going to receive."
"Oh no, brother, keep it for yourself; I thank you, but I want nothing just now."
"Diable! do not wait too long to claim my promise, because if you do, I may not be in a condition to fulfil it."
"In that case I must endeavor to find out some state secret for myself."
"Sister, you begin to look cold."
"Well, here is M. de Taverney returning with my sledge."
"Then you do not want me any longer?"
"No."
"Then send me away, I beg."
"Why? do you imagine you will be in my way?"
"No; it is I who want my liberty."
"Adieu, then."
"Au revoir, dear sister."
"Till when?"