The queen rose from her seat, went to the door, and screamed aloud. She had just perceived a woman who was writhing on the carpet, and suffering the most horrible convulsions.
“Oh, the countess,” said she in a whisper to Monsieur de Charny; “she has overheard our conversation.”
“No, Madame,” answered he, “otherwise she would have warned your Majesty that we could be overheard.”
And he sprang towards Andrée and raised her in his arms.
The queen remained standing at two steps from her, cold, pale, and trembling with anxiety.
Chapter XXIX
A Trio
ANDRÉE was gradually recovering her senses, without knowing from whom assistance came, but she seemed instinctively to understand that some one had come to her assistance.
She raised her head, and her hands grasped the unhoped-for succor that was offered her.
But her mind did not recover as soon as her body; it still remained vacillating, stupefied, somnolent, during a few minutes.
After having succeeded in recalling her to physical life, Monsieur de Charny attempted to restore her moral senses; but he was struggling against a terrible and concentrated unconsciousness.
Finally she fastened her open but haggard eyes upon him, and with her still remaining delirium, without recognizing the person who was supporting her, she gave a loud shriek, and abruptly pushed him from her.
During all this time the queen turned her eyes in another direction; she, a woman; she, whose mission it was to console, to strengthen this afflicted friend,—she abandoned her.
Charny raised Andrée in his powerful arms, notwithstanding the resistance she attempted to make, and turning round to the queen, who was still standing, pale and motionless:—
“Pardon me, Madame,” said he; “something extraordinary must doubtless have happened. Madame de Charny is not subject to fainting, and this is the first time I have ever seen her in this state.”
“She must then be suffering greatly,” said the queen, who still reverted to the idea that Andrée had overheard their conversation.
“Yes, without doubt she is suffering,” answered the count, “and it is for that reason that I shall ask your Majesty the permission to have her carried to her own apartment. She needs the assistance of her attendants.”
“Do so,” said the queen, raising her hand to the bell.
But scarcely had Andrée heard the ringing of the bell, when she wrestled fearfully, and cried out in her delirium,—
“Oh, Gilbert, that Gilbert!”
The queen trembled at the sound of this name, and the astonished count placed his wife upon a sofa.
At this moment a servant appeared, to answer the bell.
“It is nothing,” said the queen, making a sign to him with her hand to leave the room.
Then, being once more left to themselves, the count and the queen looked at each other. Andrée had again closed her eyes, and seemed to suffer from a second attack.
Monsieur de Charny, who was kneeling near the sofa, prevented her from falling off it.
“Gilbert,” repeated the queen, “what name is that?”
“We must inquire.”
“I think I know it,” said Marie Antoinette; “I think it is not the first time I have heard the countess pronounce that name.”
But as if she had been threatened by this recollection of the queen, and this threat had surprised her in the midst of her convulsions, Andrée opened her eyes, stretched out her arms to heaven, and making a great effort, stood upright.
Her first look, an intelligent look, was this time directed at Monsieur de Charny, whom she recognized, and greeted with caressing smiles.
Then, as if this involuntary manifestation of her thought had been unworthy of her Spartan soul, Andrée turned her eyes in another direction, and perceived the queen. She immediately made a profound inclination.
“Ah! good Heaven, what then is the matter with you, Madame?” said Monsieur de Charny; “you have alarmed me,—you, who are usually so strong and so courageous, to have suffered from a swoon!”
“Sir,” said she, “such fearful events have taken place at Paris, that when men are trembling, it is by no means strange that women should faint. Have you then left Paris?—oh! you have done rightly.”
“Good God! Countess,” said Charny, in a doubting tone, “was it then on my account that you underwent all this suffering!”