Ange Pitou by Alexandre Dumas part two

Andrée raised her head, and almost petrified Gilbert by her contemptuous look.

He, however, remained calm and proud.

“I say, then,” continued the king, “that having no cause for complaint against Monsieur Gilbert, by thus persecuting him instead of another, it is on the head of an innocent man that punishment has fallen. Countess, this is wrong.”

“Sire,” said Andrée.

“Ah!” interrupted the king, who already trembled for fear of disobliging the favorite of his wife, “I know that you are kind-hearted, and that if you have punished some one through hatred, that person must have deserved it; but you see that it will be necessary, in future, to avoid the recurrence of such mistakes.”

Then, turning towards Gilbert:—

“You see, Doctor, it is the fault of the times, rather than that of men. We are born in corruption, and we die in it; but we will endeavor at least to ameliorate the condition of posterity, and you will, I trust, assist me in this work, Doctor Gilbert.”

And Louis ceased speaking, thinking he had said enough to satisfy both parties.

Poor king! had he pronounced those words before the National Assembly, not only would he have been applauded, but, moreover, he would have seen them reproduced in all the court journals.

But the two unrelenting enemies present at this interview appreciated but little his conciliating philosophy.

“With your Majesty’s permission,” said Gilbert, “I will request the countess to repeat what she has already stated, namely, that she does not know me.”

“Countess,” said the king, “will you do what the doctor requests of you?”

“I do not know Doctor Gilbert,” repeated Andrée in a firm voice.

“But you know another Gilbert, my namesake,—the Gilbert whose crime has been visited on me.”

“Oh,” said Andrée, “I know that person, and I consider him an infamous wretch.”

“Sire, it would not become me to interrogate the countess,” said Gilbert; “but deign to ask her of what that infamous man has been guilty.”

“Countess, you cannot refuse acceding to so just a request.”

“What he has done” said Andrée. “Doubtless the queen knew of what crime he had been guilty, since with her own hand she authorized the letter by means of which I applied for his arrest.”

“But,” said the king, “it is not quite sufficient that the queen should be convinced; it is necessary that I too should be convinced. The queen is the queen, but I am the king.”

“Well then, Sire, the Gilbert mentioned in the warrant is a man who, sixteen years ago, committed a most fearful crime.”

“Will your Majesty ask the countess how old that man is at the present day?”

The king repeated the question.

“From thirty to thirty-two,” said Andrée.

“Sire,” rejoined Gilbert, “if the crime was committed sixteen years ago, it was not committed by a man, but by a child; and if, during these sixteen years, the man has deplored the crime committed by the child, does not that man deserve some little leniency?”

“But, sir,” asked the king, “you then know the Gilbert in question?”

“I know him, Sire,” said Gilbert.

“And has he committed no other fault except this one of his early youth?”

“I do not know that since the day on which he committed—I will not say that fault, Sire, for I am less indulgent than you—but that crime, I do not know that any one in this world has aught to reproach him with.”

“No, unless it is having dipped his pen in poison, and having composed the most odious libels,” cried Andrée.

“Sire, please to ask the countess,” said Gilbert, “if the real object of the arrest of this Gilbert was not to afford every facility to his enemies, or rather to his enemy, to obtain possession of a certain casket containing certain papers, which might have compromised a great lady, a lady of the court.”

Andrée trembled from head to foot.

“Monsieur,” faltered she.

“Countess, what is this casket?” asked the king, who had perceived the trembling and the pallor of the countess.

“Ah, Madame,” cried Gilbert, feeling that he was gaining the mastery, “no tergiversation,—no subterfuge. There have been misstatements enough on both sides. I am the Gilbert who committed the crime; I am the Gilbert of the libels; I am the Gilbert of the casket. You—you are the great lady,—the lady of the court. I call upon the King to be our judge; accept him, and we will tell to this judge,—to the King—to God,—we will tell all that has occurred between us; and the King shall decide, while we await the judgment of God.”

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