“I ought to have seen you again, sir,” said the queen, after a momentary repose.
“Your Majesty had no further need of me,” said Gilbert.
“You are modest.”
“I wish I were not so, Madame.”
“And why?”
“Because, being less modest, I should be less timid, and consequently better able to serve my friends or to frustrate enemies.”
“Why do you make that distinction? You say, my friends, but do not say my enemies.”
“Because, Madame, I have no enemies; or rather, because I will not, for my part at least, admit that I have any.”
The queen looked at him with surprise.
“I mean to say,” continued Gilbert, “that those only are my enemies who hate me, but that I on myside hate no one.”
“Because?”
“Because I no longer love any one, Madame.”
“Are you ambitious, Monsieur Gilbert?”
“At one time I hoped to become so, Madame.”
“And—”
“And that passion proved abortive, as did every other.”
“There is one, however, that still remains in your heart,” said the queen, with a slight shade of artful irony.
“In my heart? And what passion is that, good Heaven?”
“Your patriotism.”
Gilbert bowed.
“Oh, that is true!” said he. “I adore my country, and for it I would make every sacrifice.”
“Alas!” said the queen, with undefinable melancholy, “there was a time when a good Frenchman would not have expressed that thought in the terms you now have used.”
“What does the queen mean to say?” respectfully inquired Gilbert.
“I mean to say, sir, that in the times of which I speak, it was impossible for a Frenchman to love his country, without at the same time loving his queen and king.”
Gilbert blushed; he bowed, and felt within his heart one of those electric shocks, which, in her seducing intimacies, the queen produced on those who approached her.
“You do not answer, sir,” she said.
“Madame!” cried Gilbert, “I may venture to boast that no one loves the monarchy more ardently than myself.”
“Are we living in times, sir, when it is sufficient to say this; and would it not be better to prove it by our acts ”
“But, Madame,” said Gilbert, with surprise, “I beg your Majesty to believe that all the king or queen might command—”
“You would do,—is it not so?”
“Assuredly, Madame.”
“In doing which, sir,” said the queen, resuming, in spite of herself, a slight degree of her accustomed haughtiness, “you would only be fulfilling a duty.”
“Madame—”
“God, who has given omnipotence to kings,” continued Marie Antoinette, “has released them from the obligation of being grateful to those who merely fulfil a duty.”
“Alas, alas, Madame,” rejoined Gilbert, “the time is approaching when your servants will deserve more than your gratitude, if they will only fulfil their duty.”
“What is it you say, sir?”
“I mean to say, Madame, that in these days of disorder and demolition, you will in vain seek for friends where you have been accustomed to find servants. Pray, pray to God, Madame, to send you other servants, other supporters, other friends than those you have.”
“Do you know any such?”
“Yes, Madame.”
“Then point them out to me.”
” See now, Madame; I who now speak to you,—I was your enemy but yesterday.”
“My enemy! and why were you so?”
“Because you ordered that I should be imprisoned.”
“And to-day?”
“To-day, Madame,” replied Gilbert, bowing, “I am your servant.”
“And your object?”
“Madame—”
“The object for which you have become my servant. It is not in your nature, sir, to change your opinion, your belief, your affections, so suddenly. You are a man, Monsieur Gilbert, whose remembrances are deeply planted; you know how to perpetuate your vengeance. Come, now, tell me what was the motive of this change?”
“Madame, you reproached me but now with loving my country too passionately.”
“No one can ever love it too much, sir; the only question is to know how we love it. For, myself, I love my country.” (Gilbert smiled.) “Oh, no false interpretations, sir! my country is France. A German by blood, I am a Frenchwoman in my heart. I love France; but it is through the king. I love France from the respect due to God, who has given us the throne. And now to you, sir.”