“The king is absent,” she sorrowfully replied. “I cannot go there alone.”
“But with Monseigneur the Dauphin,” said some imprudent persons who still insisted on her going.
“Madame! Madame!” whispered a voice into her ear, “remain here; I conjure you to remain.”
The queen turned round; it was the Count de Charny.
“What!” cried she; “are you not below with all those gentlemen?”
“I was there, Madame, but have returned. The excitement down yonder is so great that it may prejudice your Majesty’s interests more than may be imagined.”
Marie Antoinette was in one of her sullen, her capricious days, with regard to De Charny. It pleased her on that day to do precisely the contrary of everything that might have been agreeable to the count.
She darted at him a disdainful look, and was about to address some disagreeable words to him, when, preventing her by a respectful gesture:—
“For mercy’s sake, Madame,” added he, “at least await the king’s advice!”
He thought by this to gain time.
“The king! the king!” exclaimed several voices; “the king has just returned from hunting.”
And this was the fact.
Marie Antoinette rose and ran to meet the king, who, still booted and covered with dust, entered the room.
“Sire,” cried she, “there is below a spectacle worthy of the King of France Come with me! come with me!”
And she took the king’s arm and dragged him away without looking at De Charny, who could not conceal his distress.
Leading her son with her left hand, she descended the staircase. A whole flood of courtiers preceded or urged her on. She reaches the door of the theatre at the moment when for the twentieth time the glasses were being emptied with shouts of “Long live the king! long live the queen!”
Chapter XVIII
The Banquet given by the Guards
AT the moment when the queen appeared with the king and their son on the stage of the theatre, an immense acclamation, as sudden and as loud as the explosion of a mine, was heard from the banqueting table and boxes. The inebriated soldiers, the officers delirious with wine and enthusiasm, waving their hats and sabres above their heads, shouted, “Long live the king I long live the queen! long live the dauphin!”
The bands immediately played, “Oh, Richard! oh, my king!”
The allusion of this air had become so apparent, it so well expressed the thoughts of all present, it so faithfully translated the meaning of this banquet, that all, as soon as the air began, immediately sang the words.
The queen, in her enthusiasm, forgot that she was in the midst of inebriated men; and the king, though surprised, felt, with his accustomed sound sense, that it was no place for him, and that it was going beyond his conscientious feelings; but weak, and flattered at once more finding a popularity and zeal which he was no longer habituated to meet from his people, he, by degrees, allowed himself to be carried away by the general hilarity.
De Charny, who during the whole festival had drunk nothing but water, followed the king and queen. He had hoped that all would have terminated without their being present, and then it would have been but of slight importance; they might have disavowed, have denied everything; but he turned pale at the thought that the presence of the king and queen would become an historical fact.
But his terror was increased greatly when he saw his brother George approach the queen, and encouraged by her smile, address some words to her.
Charny was not near enough to hear the words, but by his brother’s gestures he could comprehend that he was making some request.
To this request the queen made a sign of assent, and suddenly taking from her cap the cockade she wore upon it, gave it to the young man.
De Charny shuddered, stretched forth his arms, and uttered a cry.
It was not even the white cockade—the French cockade—which the queen presented to her imprudent knight; it was the black cockade,—the Austrian cockade; the cockade which was so hateful to French eyes.
What the queen then did was no longer a mere imprudence; it was an act of absolute treason.