Gilbert, from the balcony of the window, had fully comprehended the meaning of the arrival of this horseman, although he did not know his person. He readily imagined the anguish which the queen must have suffered, and especially for the last three hours; for during that time he had not been able to despatch a single courier to Versailles, amid the throng by which he was surrounded, without exciting suspicion, or betraying weakness.
He had but a faint idea of all that had been occurring at Versailles.
We shall now return there with our readers, for we do not wish to make them read too long a course of history.
The queen had received the last courier from the king at three o’clock.
Gilbert had found means to despatch a courier just at the moment the king entered the Hôtel de Ville, under the arch formed by the swords of the National Guards.
The Countess de Charny was with the queen. The countess had only just left her bed, which from severe indisposition she had kept since the previous day.
She was still very pale. She had hardly strength to raise her eyes, the heavy lids of which seemed to be constantly falling, weighed down either with grief or shame.
The queen, on perceiving her, smiled, but with that habitual smile which appears, to those familiar with the court, to be stereotyped upon the lips of princes and of kings.
Then, as if overjoyed that her husband was in safety:—
“Good news again!” exclaimed the queen to those who surrounded her; “may the whole day pass off as well!”
“Oh, Madame!” said a courtier, “your Majesty alarms yourself too much. The Parisians know too well the responsibility which weighs upon them.”
“But, Madame,” said another courtier, who was not so confiding, “is your Majesty well assured as to the authenticity of this intelligence?”
“Oh, yes,” replied the queen. “The person who writes to me has engaged, at the hazard of his head, to be responsible for the safety of the king. Moreover, I believe him to be a friend.”
“Oh! if he is a friend,” rejoined the courtier, bowing, “that is quite another matter.”
Madame de Lamballe, who was standing at a little distance, approached.
“It is,” said she, “the lately appointed physician, is t not?”
“Yes, Gilbert,” unthinkingly replied the queen, without reflecting that she was striking a fearful blow at one who stood close beside her.
“Gilbert!” exclaimed Andrée, starting as if a viper had bit her to the heart; “Gilbert, your Majesty’s friend!”
Andrée had turned round with flashing eyes, her Lands clinched with anger and shame, and seemed proudly to accuse the queen, both by her looks and attitude.
“But still,” said the queen, hesitating.
“Oh, Madame, Madame!” murmured Andrée, in a tone of the bitterest reproach.
A deathlike silence pervaded the whole room after this mysterious incident.
In the midst of this silence, a light step was heard upon the tesselated floor of the adjoining room.
“Monsieur de Charny!” said the queen, in a half-whisper, as if to warn Andrée to compose herself.
Charny had heard—he had seen all—only he could not comprehend it.
He remarked the pallid countenance of Andrée, and the embarrassed air of Marie Antoinette.
It would have been a breach of etiquette to question the queen, but Andrée was his wife; he had the right to question her.
He therefore went to her, and in the most friendly tone—
“What is the matter, Madame?” said he.
Andrée made an effort to recover her composure.
“Nothing, Count,” she replied.
Charny then turned towards the queen, who, notwithstanding her profound experience in equivocal positions, had ten times essayed to muster up a smile, but could not succeed.
“You appear to doubt the devotedness of this Monsieur Gilbert,” said he to Andrée. “Have you any motive for suspecting his fidelity?”
Andrée was silent.
“Speak, Madame; speak!” said Charny, insistingly.
Then, as Andrée still remained mute:—
“Oh, speak, Madame!” cried he. “This delicacy now becomes condemnable. Reflect that on it may depend the safety of our master.”
“I do not know, sir, what can be your motive for saying that,” replied Andrée.
“You said, and I heard you say it, Madame,—I appeal moreover to the princess,”—and Charny bowed to the Princess de Lamballe, “you exclaimed with an expression of great surprise, ‘Gilbert, your Majesty’s friend!'”