“I should have been much astonished,” said she, with disdainful harshness, “if such a saying had not proceeded from the Count Olivier de Charny.”
“And why so, Madame?” respectfully inquired the count.
“Because it prophesies misfortune, sir.”
Andrée turned pale on seeing that the color fled from her husband’s cheeks.
He bowed without offering a reply.
Then, on a look from his wife, who appeared to be amazed at his being so patient:—
“I am really extremely unfortunate,” he said, “since I no longer know how to speak to the queen without offending her.”
The “no longer” was emphasized in the same manner as a skilful actor would emphasize the more important syllables.
The ear of the queen was too well exercised not to perceive at once the stress which Charny had laid upon his words.
“No longer!” she exclaimed sharply, “no longer; what mean you by no longer?”
“I have again spoken unfortunately, it would appear,” said De Charny, unaffectedly.
And he exchanged a look with Andrée, which the queen this time perceived.
She in her turn became pale, and then her teeth firmly set together with rage.
“The saying is bad,” she exclaimed, “when the intention is bad.”
“The ear is hostile,” said Charny, “when the thought is hostile.”
And after this retort, which was more just than respectful, he remained silent.
“I shall wait to reply,” said the queen, “until the Count de Charny is more happy in his attacks.”
“And I,” said De Charny, “shall wait to attack until the queen shall be more fortunate than she has lately been in servants.”
Andrée eagerly seized her husband’s hand, and was preparing to leave the room with him.
A glance from the queen restrained her. She had observed this gesture.
“But, in fine, what has your husband to say to me?” asked the queen.
“He had intended telling your Majesty that having been sent to Paris yesterday by the King, he had found the city in a most extraordinary state of ferment.”
“Again! cried the queen; “and on what account The Parisians have taken the Bastille, and are now occupied in demolishing it; what can they require more? Answer me, Monsieur de Charny.”
“That is true, Madame,” replied the count; “but as they cannot eat the stones, they are calling out for bread,—they say that they are hungry.”
“That they are hungry! that they are hungry!” exclaimed the queen; “and what would they have us do in that respect?”
“There was a time,” observed De Charny, “when the queen was the first to compassionate and assuage the sufferings of the people; there was a time when she would ascend even to the garrets of the poor, and the prayers of the poor ascended from the garrets to God with blessings on her head.”
“Yes,” bitterly replied the queen; “and I was well rewarded, was I not, for the compassion which I felt for the misery of others? One of the greatest misfortunes which ever befell me was in consequence of having ascended to one of these garrets.”
“Because your Majesty was once deceived,” said De Charny, “because she bestowed her favors and her grace upon a miserable wretch, ought she to consider all human nature upon a level with that infamous woman? Ah, Madame! Madame! how at that time were you beloved!”
The queen darted a furious glance at De Charny.
“But, finally,” she said, “what did actually take place in Paris yesterday? Tell me only things that you have yourself seen, sir; I wish to be sure of the truth of your words.”
“What I saw, Madame! I saw a portion of the population crowded together on the quays, vainly awaiting the arrival of flour. I saw others standing in long files at the bakers’ doors, uselessly waiting for bread. What I saw was a starving people,—husbands looking sorrowfully at their wives, mothers looking sorrowfully at their children. What I saw! I saw clinched and threatening hands held up in the direction of Versailles. Ah, Madame! Madame! the dangers of which I just now spoke to you are approaching,—the opportunity of dying for your Majesty; a happiness which my brother and myself will be the first to claim. I fear the day is not far distant when it will be offered to us.”