On perceiving this feverish excitement of the queen, Louis XVI. saw that there was nothing to be done but to yield to it.
He made a sign to Gilbert, and advancing to Marie Antoinette, whose hand he took:—
“Tranquillize yourself, Madame,” said he to her; “all shall be done as you desire. You know, my dear wife, that I would not do anything which would be displeasing to you, for I have the most unbounded affection for a woman of your merit, and above all, of your virtue.”
And Louis XVI. accentuated these last words with inexpressible nobleness; thus exalting with all his power the so-much calumniated queen, and that in the presence of a witness capable, should it be requisite, of properly reporting all he had heard and seen.
This delicacy profoundly moved Marie Antoinette, who, grasping with both hands the hand which the king held out to her, said:—
“Well, then, only till to-morrow, Sire, no later; that shall be the last delay; but I ask you that as a favor on my knees. To-morrow, at the hour which may please you, I swear to you, you shall set out for Paris.”
“Take care, Madame, the doctor is a witness,” said the king, smiling.
“Sire, you have never known me to forfeit my word,” replied the queen.
“No; but there is only one thing I acknowledge—”
“What is that?”
“It is, that I am anxious, resigned as you appear to be, to know why you have asked me for this delay of twenty-four hours. Do you expect some news from Paris,—some intelligence from Germany? Is there anything—”
“Do not question me, Sire.”
The king was as inquisitive as Figaro was lazy; anything that excited his curiosity delighted him.
“Is there any question as to the arrival of troops,—of a reinforcement,—of any political combination?”
“Sire, Sire!” murmured the queen, in a reproachful tone.
“Is it a question of—”
“There is no question in the matter,” replied the queen.
“Then it is a secret?”
“Well, then, yes! the secret of an anxious woman, that is all.”
“A caprice, is it not?”
“Caprice, if you will.”
“The supreme law.”
“That is true. Why does it not exist in politics as in philosophy? Why are kings not permitted to make their political caprices supreme laws?”
“It will come to that, you may rest assured. As to myself, it is already done,” said the king, in a jocose tone. “Therefore, till to-morrow.”
“Till to-morrow!” sorrowfully rejoined the queen.
“Do you keep the doctor with you?” asked the king.
“Oh, no, no!” cried the queen, with a sort of eagerness which made Gilbert smile.
“I will take him with me, then.”
Gilbert bowed a third time to the Queen Marie Antoinette, who this time returned his salutation more as a woman than a queen.
Then, as the king was going towards the door, he followed the king.
“It appears to me,” said the king, as they proceeded along the gallery, “that you are on good terms with the queen, Monsieur Gilbert.”
“Sire,” replied the doctor, “it is a favor for which I am indebted to your Majesty.”
“Long live the king!” cried the courtiers who already thronged the antechambers.
“Long live the king!” repeated a crowd of officers and foreign soldiers in the courtyard, who were eagerly hastening towards the palace doors.
These acclamations, which became louder as the crowd increased, gave greater delight to the heart of Louis XVI. than any he had before received, although he had so frequently been greeted in the same manner.
As to the queen, still seated where the king had left her, near the window, and where she had just passed such agonizing moments, when she heard the cries of devotedness and love which welcomed the king as he passed by, and which gradually died away in the distance under the porticos, or beneath the thickets of the park:—
“Long live the king!” cried she; “yes, long live the king! The king will live, and that in despite of thee, infamous Paris! Thou odious gulf, thou sanguinary abyss, thou shalt not swallow up this victim! I will drag him from thee, and that with this little, this weak arm. It threatens thee at this moment,—it devotes thee to the execration of the world and to the vengeance of God!”