"She had on a dress of gray taffeta, a mantle of embroidered muslin, an ermine m.u.f.f, and a rose-colored velvet bonnet, trimmed with black."
M. de Crosne looked astonished. It was a totally different dress from that which he had had described to him. The Comte de Provence bit his lips with vexation, and the king rubbed his hands.
"What did you do on entering?" asked he.
"Sire, you are right to say on entering, for we had hardly entered the room----"
"Together?"
"Yes, sire; and we could scarcely have been seen, for every one was occupied with the experiments going on, when a lady approached the queen, and, offering her a mask, implored her to turn back."
"And you stopped?"
"Yes, sire."
"You never went through the rooms?" asked M. de Crosne.
"No, monsieur."
"And you never quitted the queen?" asked the king.
"Not for a moment, sire. Her majesty never left my arm."
"Now!" cried the king, "what do you say, M. de Crosne? and you, brother?"
"It is extraordinary, quite supernatural," said the count, who affected a gaiety which could not conceal his disappointment.
"There is nothing supernatural," said M. de Crosne, who felt real remorse: "what Madame de Lamballe says is undoubtedly true; therefore my informants must have been mistaken."
"Do you speak seriously, sir?" asked the count.
"Perfectly, monseigneur. Her majesty did what Madame de Lamballe states, and nothing more, I feel convinced; my agents were, somehow or other, deceived. As for this journalist, I will immediately send the order for his imprisonment."
Madame de Lamballe looked from one to the other with an expression of innocent curiosity.
"One moment," said the king; "you spoke of a lady who came to stop you; tell us who she was?"
"Her majesty seemed to know her, sire."
"Because, cousin, I must speak to this person; then we shall learn the key to this mystery."
"That is my opinion also, sire," said M. de Crosne.
"Did the queen tell you that she knew this person?" said the count.
"She told me so, monseigneur."
"My brother means to say that you probably know her name."
"Madame de la Motte Valois."
"That intriguer!" cried the king.
"Diable!" said the count; "she will be difficult to interrogate: she is cunning."
"We will be as cunning as she," said M. de Crosne.
"I do not like such people about the queen," said Louis; "she is so good that all the beggars crowd round her."
"Madame de la Motte is a true Valois," said the princess.
"However that may be, I will not see her here. I prefer depriving myself of the pleasure of hearing the queen"s innocence confirmed, to doing that."
"But you must see her, sire," said the queen, entering at that moment, pale with anger, beautiful with a n.o.ble indignation. "It is not now for you to say, "I do, or I do not wish to see her." She is a witness from whom the intelligence of my accusers," said she, looking at her brother-in-law, "and the justice of my judges," turning to the king and M. de Crosne, "must draw the truth. I, the accused, demand that she be heard."
"Madame," said the king, "we will not do Madame de la Motte the honor of sending for her to give evidence either for or against you. I cannot stake your honor against the veracity of this woman."
"You need not send for her, she is here."
"Here!" cried the king.
"Sire, you know I went to see her one day; that day of which so many things were said," and she looked again at the Comte de Provence, who felt ready to sink through the ground; "and I then dropped at her house a box, containing a portrait, which she was to return to me to-day, and she is here."
"No, no," said the king; "I am satisfied, and do not wish to see her."
"But I am not satisfied, and shall bring her in. Besides, why this repugnance? What has she done? If there be anything, tell me; you, M. de Crosne? you know everything."
"I know nothing against this lady," replied he.
"Really?"
"Certainly not; she is poor, and perhaps ambitious, but that is all."
"If there be no more than that against her, the king can surely admit her."
"I do not know why," said Louis; "but I have a presentiment that this woman will be the cause of misfortune to me."
"Oh! sire, that is superst.i.tion; pray fetch her, Madame de Lamballe."
Five minutes after, Jeanne, with a timid air, although with a distinguished appearance, entered the room.
Louis XVI., strong in his antipathies, had turned his back towards her, and was leaning his head on his hands, seeming to take no longer a part in the conversation. The Comte de Provence cast on her a look which, had her modesty been real, would have increased her confusion; but it required much more than that to trouble Jeanne.
"Madame," said the queen, "have the goodness to tell the king exactly what pa.s.sed the other day at M. Mesmer"s."
Jeanne did not speak.
"It requires no consideration," continued the queen; "we want nothing but the simple truth."