Ange Pitou by Alexandre Dumas part two

“Who will fight against me, Count?”

“Yes, against you; for they are fighting for liberty, and you stand between them and liberty.”

A long silence followed the words of the count. The queen was the first to break it.

“In fine,” said she, “you have told me this truth, which I had begged you not to tell me.”

“Alas! Madame,” replied De Charny, “under whatever form my devotion may conceal it, under whatever veil my respect disguises it, in spite of me, in spite of yourself, examine it, listen to it, think of it. The truth is there, Madame, is there forever, and you can no longer banish it from your mind, whatever may be your efforts to the contrary. Sleep!—sleep, to forget it, and it will haunt your pillow, will become the phantom of your dreams, a reality at your awakening.”

“Oh, Count,” said the queen, proudly, ” I know asleep which it cannot disturb!”

“As for that sleep, Madame, I fear it no more than does your Majesty, and perhaps I desire it quite as much.”

“Oh,” exclaimed the queen, in despair, “according to you, it is, then, our sole refuge?”

“Yes; but let us do nothing rashly, Madame. Let us go no faster than our enemies, and we shall go straight to that sleep by the fatigue which we shall have to endure during so many stormy days.”

And a new silence, still more gloomy than the first, weighed down the spirits of the two speakers.

They were seated, he near her, and she near him. They touched each other, and yet between them there was an immense abyss, for their minds viewed the future in a different light.

The queen was the first to return to the subject of their conversation, but indirectly. She looked fixedly at the count. Then:— “Let us see, sir,” said she. “One word as to ourselves, and you will tell me al—all—all. You understand me?”

“I am ready to answer you, Madame.”

“Can you swear to me that you came here only for my sake?”

“Oh, do you doubt it?”

“Will you swear to me that Madame de Charny had not written to you?”

“She?”

“Listen to me. I know that she was going out. I know that she had some plan in her mind. Swear to me, Count, that it was not on her account that you returned!”

At this moment a knock, or rather a scratch, at the door was heard.

“Come in,” said the queen.

The waiting-woman again appeared.

“Madame,” said she, “the king has just finished his supper.”

The count looked at Marie Antoinette with astonishment.

“Well,” said she, shrugging her shoulders, “what is there astonishing in that? Must not the king take his supper?”

Olivier frowned.

“Tell the king,” replied the queen, without at all disturbing herself, “that I am just receiving news from Paris, and that I shall communicate it to him when I have received it.

Then, turning towards Charny:—”Go on,” said she; “now that the king has supped, it is but natural that he should digest his food.”

Chapter XXVIII

Olivier de Charny

THIS interruption had only caused a momentary suspension in the conversation, but had changed in nothing the two-fold sentiment of jealousy which animated the queen at this moment,—jealousy of love as a woman, jealousy of power as a queen.

Hence it resulted that the conversation, which seemed exhausted during its first period, had, on the contrary, only been entered upon, and was about to be revived more sharply than ever; as in a battle, where, after the cessation of the first fire, which had commenced the action at a few points, the fire which decides the victory soon becomes general all along the line.

The count, moreover, as things had arrived at this point, seemed as anxious as the queen to come to an explanation; for which reason, the door being closed again, he was the first to resume the conversation.

“You asked me if it was for Madame de Charny that I had come back,” said he. “Has your Majesty then forgotten that engagements were entered into between us, and that I am a man of honor?”

“Yes,” said the queen, holding down her head, “yes, we have made engagements; yes, you are a man of honor; yes, you have sworn to sacrifice yourself to my happiness, and it is that oath which most tortures me, for in sacrificing yourself to my happiness, you immolate at the same time a beautiful woman and a noble character,—another crime!”

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