And pronouncing these words with a violence of hatred which would have terrified the most furious friends of the Revolution, could they have seen and heard her, the queen stretched forth towards Paris her weak arm, which shone from beneath the lace which surrounded it, like a sword starting from its scabbard.
Then she called Madame Campan, the lady-in-waiting in whom she placed the most confidence, and shutting herself up with her in her cabinet, ordered that no one should be admitted to her presence.
Chapter V
The Shirt of Mail
THE following morning the sun rose brilliant and pure as on the preceding day. Its bright rays gilded the marble and the gravel walks of Versailles. The birds, grouped in thousands on the first trees of the park, saluted, with their deafening songs, the new and balmy day of joy thus promised to their love.
The queen had risen at five o’clock. She had given orders that the king should be requested to go to her apartment as soon as he should wake.
Louis XVI., somewhat fatigued from having received a deputation of the Assembly, which had come to the palace the preceding evening, and to which he had been obliged to reply,—this was the commencement of speechmaking,—Louis XVI. had slept somewhat later than usual to recover from his fatigue, and that it might not be said that he was not as vigorous as ever.
Therefore, he was scarcely dressed when the queen’s message was delivered to him; he was at that moment putting on his sword. He slightly knit his brow.
“What!” said he, “is the queen already up?”
“Oh, a long time ago, Sire.”
“Is she again ill?”
“No, Sire.”
“And what can the queen want at so early an hour in the morning?”
“Her Majesty did not say.”
The king took his first breakfast, which consisted of a bowl of soup and a little wine, and then went to the queen’s apartment.
He found the queen full dressed, as for a ceremonious reception, beautiful, pale, imposing. She welcomed her husband with that cold smile which shone like a winter’s sun upon the cheeks of the queen, as when in the grand receptions at court it was necessary she should cast some rays upon the crowd.
The king could not comprehend the sorrow which pervaded that smile and look. He was already preparing himself for one thing; that is to say, the resistance of Marie Antoinette to the project which had been proposed the day before.
“Again some new caprice,” thought he.
And this was the reason for his frowning. The queen did not fail, by the first words she uttered, to strengthen this opinion.
“Sire,” said she, “since yesterday I have been reflecting much—”
“There now! now it is coming!” cried the king.
“Dismiss, if you please, all who are not our intimate friends,” said the queen.
The king, though much annoyed, ordered his officers to leave the room. One only of the queen’s women remained; it was Madame Campan.
Then the queen, laying both her beautiful hands on the king’s arm, said to him:—
“Why, are you dressed already? That is wrong.”
“How wrong? and why?”
“Did I not send word to you not to dress yourself until you had been here? I see you have already your coat on and your sword. I had hoped you would have come in your dressing-gown.”
The king looked at her, much surprised. This fantasy of the queen awakened in his mind a crowd of strange ideas, the novelty of which only rendered the improbability still stronger. His first gesture was one of mistrust and uneasiness.
“What is it that you wish?” said he. “Do you pretend to retard or prevent that which we had yesterday agreed upon?”
“In no way, Sire.”
“Let me entreat you not to jest on a matter of so serious a nature. I ought and I will go to Paris. I can no longer avoid it. My household troops are prepared. The persons who are to accompany me were summoned last night to be ready.”
“Sire, I have no pretensions of that nature, but—”
“Reflect,” said the king, working himself up by degrees to gain courage,—”reflect that the intelligence of my intended journey must have already reached the Parisians; that they have prepared themselves; that they are expecting me; that the very favorable feelings, as was predicted to us, that this journey has excited in the public mind, may be changed into dangerous hostility. Reflect, in fine—”