ÆGRI SOMNIA.
The queen was expecting the return of Madame de Misery. The doctor
entered with his accustomed familiarity. “Madame,” he said, “the
patient in whom your majesty and the king are interested is as well as
any one can be who has a fever.”
“Is it a slight wound?” asked the queen.
“Slight or not, he is in a fever.”
“Poor fellow!—a bad fever?”
“Terrible!”
“You frighten me; dear doctor; you, who are generally so cheering.
Besides, you look about you, as though you had a secret to tell.”
“So I have.”
“About the fever?”
“Yes.”
“To tell me?”
“Yes.”
“Speak, then, for I am curious.”
“I wait for you to question me, madame.”
“Well, how does the fever go on?”
“No; ask me why I have taken him away from the guard’s gallery, where
the king left him, to my own room.”
“Well, I ask. Indeed it is strange.”
“Then, madame, I did so, because it is not an ordinary fever.”
The queen looked surprised. “What do you mean?”
“M. de Charny is delirious already, and in his delirium he says a
number of things rather delicate for the gentlemen of the guard to
hear.”
“Doctor!”
“Oh, madame! you should not question me, if you do not wish to hear my
answers.”
“Well, then, dear doctor, is he an atheist? Does he blaspheme?”
“Oh, no! he is on the contrary a devotee.”
The queen assumed a look of sang-froid. “M. de Charny,” she said,
“interests me. He is the nephew of M. de Suffren, and has besides
rendered me personal services. I wish to be a friend to him. Tell me,
therefore, the exact truth.”
“But I cannot tell you, madame. If your majesty wishes to know, the
only way is to hear him yourself.”
“But if he says such strange things?”
“Things which your majesty ought to hear.”
“But,” said the queen, “I cannot move a step here, without some
charitable spy watching me.”
“I will answer for your security. Come through my private way, and I
will lock the door after us.”
“I trust to you, then, dear doctor.” And she followed him, burning with
curiosity.
When they reached the second door the doctor put his ear to the
keyhole.
“Is your patient in there, doctor?”
“No, madame, or you would have heard him at the end of the corridor.
Even here you can hear his voice.”
“He groans.”
“No, he speaks loud and distinct.”
“But I cannot go in to him.”
“I do not mean you to do so. I only wish you to listen in the adjoining
room, where you will hear without being seen.” They went on, and the
doctor entered the sick-room alone.
Charny, still dressed in his uniform, was making fruitless efforts to
rise, and was repeating to himself his interview with the German lady
in the coach. “German!” he cried—“German! Queen of France!”
“Do you hear, madame?”
“It is frightful,” continued Charny, “to love an angel, a woman—to love
her madly—to be willing to give your life for her; and when you come
near her, to find her only a queen—of velvet and of gold, of metal and
of silk, and no heart.”
“Oh! oh!” cried the doctor again.
“I love a married woman!” Charny went on, “and with that wild love
which, makes me forget everything else. Well, I will say to her, there
remain for us still some happy days on this earth. Come, my beloved,
and we will live the life of the blessed, if we love each other.
Afterwards there will be death—better than a life like this. Let us
love at least.”
“Not badly reasoned for a man in a fever,” said the doctor.
“But her children!” cried Charny suddenly, with fury; “she will not
leave her children. Oh! we will carry them away also. Surely I can
carry her, she is so light, and her children too.” Then he gave a
terrible cry: “But they are the children of a king!”
The doctor left his patient and approached the queen.
“You are right, doctor,” said she; “this young man would incur a
terrible danger if he were overheard.”
“Listen again,” said the doctor.
“Oh, no more.”
But just then Charny said, in a gentler voice:
“Marie, I feel that you love me, but I will say nothing about it.
Marie, I felt the touch of your foot in the coach; your hand touched
mine, but I will never tell; I will keep this secret with my life. My
blood may all flow away, Marie, but my secret shall not escape with it.
My enemy steeped his sword in my blood, but if he has guessed my
secret, yours is safe. Fear nothing, Marie, I do not even ask you if
you love me; you blushed, that is enough.”
“Oh!” thought the doctor; “this sounds less like delirium than like
memory.”
“I have heard enough,” cried the queen, rising and trembling violently;
and she tried to go.
The doctor stopped her. “Madame,” said he, “what do you wish?”
“Nothing, doctor, nothing.”
“But if the king ask to see my patient?”
“Oh! that would be dreadful!”
“What shall I say?”
“Doctor, I cannot think; this dreadful spectacle has confused me.”
“I think you have caught his fever,” said the doctor, feeling her
pulse.
She drew away her hand, and escaped.