“‘Tis true, you did say that, my dear,” said the Princess de Lamballe, with her habitual ingenuousness.
Then, going closer to Andre:—
“If you do know anything, Monsieur de Charny is right.”
“For pity’s sake, Madame! for pity’s sake!” said Andrée, in an imploring tone, but so low that it could not be heard by any one but the princess.
The princess retired a few steps.
“Oh, good Heaven! it was but a trifling matter,” said the queen, feeling that should she any longer delay to interfere, she would be betraying her trust. “The countess was expressing her apprehensions, which doubtless were but vague. She had said that it was difficult for a man who had taken part in the American Revolution, one who is the friend of Monsieur de Lafayette, to be our friend.”
“Yes, vague,” mechanically repeated Andrée,—”very vague.”
“A fear of a similar nature to one which had been expressed by one of the gentlemen present before the countess had expressed hers,” rejoined Marie Antoinette.
And with her eyes she pointed out the courtier whose doubts had given rise to this discussion.
But it required more than this to convince Charny. The great confusion which had appeared on his entering the room persuaded him that there was some mystery in the affair.
He therefore persisted.
“It matters not, Madame,” said he. “It seems to me that it is your duty not to express vain fears, but on the contrary, to state precise facts.”
“What, sir,” said the queen, with some asperity, “you are returning to that subject!”
“Madame!”
“Your pardon, but I find that you are still questioning the Countess de Charny.”
“Excuse me, Madame,” said Charny; “it is from interest for—”
“For your self-love, is it not? Ah, Monsieur de Charny,” added the queen, with an ironical expression of which the count felt the whole weight, “acknowledge the thing frankly. You are jealous.”
“Jealous! jealous!” cried Charny, coloring,—”but of what? I ask this of your Majesty.”
“Of your wife, apparently,” replied the queen, harshly.
“Madame!” stammered Charny, perfectly astounded at this unlooked-for attack.
“It is perfectly natural,” dryly rejoined Marie Antoinette; “and the countess assuredly is worth the trouble.”
Charny darted a look at the queen, to warn her that she was going too far.
But this was useless trouble, superfluous precaution. When this lioness was wounded, and felt the burning pain galling her heart, she no longer knew restraint.
“Yes, I can comprehend your being jealous, Monsieur de Charny,—jealous and uneasy; it is the natural state of every soul that loves, and which consequently is on the watch.”
“Madame!” repeated Charny.
“And therefore I,” pursued the queen,—”I experience precisely the same feelings which you do at this moment, I am at once a prey to jealousy and anxiety.” She emphasized the word “jealousy.” “The king is at Paris and I no longer live.”
“But, Madame,” observed Charny, who could not at all comprehend the meaning of this storm, the thunder of which appeared to growl more fiercely and the lightnings to flash more vividly every moment, “you have just now received news of the king; the news was good, and you must feel more tranquil.”
“And did you feel tranquillized when the countess and myself, a moment ago, endeavored to reassure you?”
Charny bit his lip.
Andrée began to raise her head, at once surprised and alarmed,—surprised at what she heard, alarmed at what she thought she understood.
The silence which had ensued after the first question which Charny had addressed to Andrée was now renewed, and the company seemed anxiously awaiting Charny’s answer to the queen. Charny remained silent.
“In fact,” resumed the queen, with still increasing anger, “it is the destiny of people who love to think only of the object of their affection. It would be happiness to those poor hearts to sacrifice pitilessly everything—yes, everything—to the feeling by which they are agitated. Good Heaven! how anxious am I with regard to the king!”
One of the courtiers ventured to remark that other couriers would arrive.
“Oh, why am I not at Paris, instead of being here? I why am I not with the king?” said Marie Antoinette, who had seen that Charny had become agitated since she had been endeavoring to instil that jealousy into his mind which she so violently experienced.