Thus the author of the popular rebellion that had just shaken the royal power by levelling the Bastille was Gilbert,—he whose principles had placed weapons in the hands of the Billots, the Maillards, the Elies, and the Hullins.
Gilbert was therefore both a venomous and a terrible being,—venomous, because he had caused the loss of Andrée as a lover; terrible, because he had just assisted in overthrowing the Bastille as an enemy.
It was therefore necessary to know, in order to avoid him; or rather, to know him, in order to make use of him.
It was necessary, at any cost, to converse with this man, to examine him closely, and to judge him personally.
Two thirds of the night had already flown away, three o’clock was striking, and the first rays of the rising sun gilded the high tops of the trees in the park, and the summits of the statues of Versailles.
The queen had passed the whole night without sleeping; her eyes wandered vaguely up and down the avenues, where streaks of soft light began to appear.
A heavy and burning slumber gradually seized the unfortunate woman.
She fell back, with her neck overhanging the back of the arm-chair, near the open window.
She dreamed that she was walking in Trianon, and that there appeared to her eyes, at the extremity of a flowerbed, a grinning gnome, similar to those we read of in German ballads; that this sardonic monster was Gilbert, who extended his hooked fingers towards her.
She screamed aloud.
Another cry answered hers.
That cry roused her from her slumber.
It was Madame de Tourzel who had uttered it. She had just entered the queen’s apartment, and seeing her exhausted and gasping in an arm-chair, she could not avoid giving utterance to her grief and surprise.
“The queen is indisposed!” she exclaimed.”The queen is suffering. Shall I send for a physician?”
The queen opened her eyes. This question of Madame de Tourzel coincided with the demands of her own curiosity.
“Yes, a physician!” she replied; “Doctor Gilbert!—send for Doctor Gilbert!”
“Who is Doctor Gilbert?” asked Madame de Tourzel.
“A new physician, appointed by the king only yesterday, I believe, and just arrived from America.”
“I know whom her Majesty means,” said one of the queen’s ladies-in-waiting.
“Well?” said the queen, inquiringly.
“Well, Madame, the doctor is in the king’s antechamber.”
“Do you know him, then?”
“Yes, your Majesty,” stammered the woman.
“But how can you know him? He arrived here from America some eight or ten days ago, and only came out of the Bastille yesterday.”
“I know him.”
“Answer me distinctly. Where did you know him?” asked the queen, in an imperious tone.
The lady cast down her eyes.
“Come, will you make up your mind to tell me how it happens that you know this man?”
“Madame, I have read his works; and his works having given me a desire to see the author, I had him pointed out to me.”
“Ah!” exclaimed the queen, with an indescribable look of haughtiness and reserve,—”ah! it is well. Since you know him, go and tell him that I am suffering, and that I wish to see him.”
While waiting for the doctor’s arrival, the queen made her ladies in attendance enter the room; after which she put on a dressing-gown and adjusted her hair.
Chapter II
The King’s Physician
A FEW moments after the queen had expressed the above desire,—a desire which the person to whom it had been mentioned had complied with,—Gilbert, who felt astonished, slightly anxious, and profoundly agitated, but still without showing any external marks of it, presented himself to Marie Antoinette.
The firm and noble carriage, the delicate pallor of the man of science and of thought, to whom study had given a second nature,—a pallor still more enhanced by the black dress which was not only worn by all the deputies of the Tiers État, but also by those who had adopted the principles of the Revolution; the delicate white hand of the surgical operator, surrounded by a plain muslin wristband; his slender though well-formed limbs, which none of those at court could surpass in symmetry, even in the estimation of the connoisseurs of the Œil-de-Bœuf (combined with all these, there was a mixture of respectful timidity towards the woman, and of calm courage towards the patient, but no signs of servility towards her as a queen),—such were the plainly written signs that Marie Antoinette, with her aristocratic intelligence, could perceive in the countenance of Gilbert at the moment when the door opened to admit him into her bedchamber.