THE NIGHT.
That day, at four o’clock, a man on horseback stopped in the outskirts
of the park, just behind the baths of Apollo, where M. de Rohan used to
wait. He got off, and looked at the places where the grass had been
trodden down. “Here are the traces,” thought he; “it is as I supposed.
M. de Charny has returned for a fortnight, and this is where he enters
the park.” And he sighed. “Leave him to his happiness. God gives to
one, and denies to another. But I will have proof to-night. I will hide
in the bushes, and see what happens.”
As for Charny, obedient to the queen’s commands, he waited for orders;
but it was half-past ten, and no one appeared. He waited with impatient
anxiety. Then he began to think she had deceived him, and had promised
what she did not mean to perform. “How could I be so foolish—I, who saw
her—to be taken in by her words and promises!” At last he saw a figure
approaching, wrapped in a large black mantle, and he uttered a cry of
joy, for he recognized the queen. He ran to her, and fell at her feet.
“Ah, here you are, sir! it is well.”
“Ah, madame! I scarcely hoped you were coming.”
“Have you your sword?”
“Yes, madame.”
“Where do you say those people came in?”
“By this door.”
“At what time?”
“At midnight each time.”
“There is no reason why they should not come again to-night. You have
not spoken to any one.”
“To no one.”
“Come into the thick wood, and let us watch, I have not spoken of this
to M. de Crosne. I have already mentioned this creature to him, and if
she be not arrested, he is either incapable, or in league with my
enemies. It seems incredible that any one should dare to play such
tricks under my eyes, unless they were sure of impunity. Therefore, I
think it is time to take the care of my reputation on myself. What do
you think?”
“Oh, madame! allow me to be silent! I am ashamed of all I have said.”
“At least you are an honest man,” replied the queen, “and speak to the
accused face to face. You do not stab in the dark.”
“Oh, madame, it is eleven o’clock! I tremble.”
“Look about, that no one is here.”
Charny obeyed.
“No one,” said he.
“Where did the scenes pass that you have described?”
“Oh, madame! I had a shock when I returned to you; for she stood just
where you are at this moment.”
“Here!” cried the queen, leaving the place with disgust.
“Yes, madame; under the chestnut tree.”
“Then, sir, let us move, for they will most likely come here again.”
He followed the queen to a different place. She, silent and proud,
waited for the proof of her innocence to appear. Midnight struck. The
door did not open. Half an hour passed, during which the queen asked
ten times if they had always been punctual.
Three-quarters struck—the queen stamped with impatience. “They will not
come,” she cried; “these misfortunes only happen to me;” and she looked
at Charny, ready to quarrel with him, if she saw any expression of
triumph or irony: but he, as his suspicions began to return, grew so
pale and looked so melancholy, that he was like the figure of a martyr.
At last she took his arm, and led him under the chestnut tree. “You
say,” she murmured, “that it was here you saw her?”
“Yes, madame.”
“Here that she gave the rose?” And the queen, fatigued and wearied with
waiting and disappointment leaned against the tree, and covered her
face with her hands, but Charny could see the tears stealing through.
At last she raised her head:
“Sir,” said she, “I am condemned. I promised to prove to you to-day
that I was calumniated; God does not permit it, and I submit. I have
done what no other woman, not to say queen, would have done. What a
queen! who cannot reign over one heart, who cannot obtain the esteem of
one honest man. Come, sir, give me your arm, if you do not despise me
too much.”
“Oh, madame!” cried he, falling at her feet, “if I were only an unhappy
man who loves you, could you not pardon me?”
“You!” cried she, with a bitter laugh, “you love me! and believe me
infamous!”
“Oh, madame!”
“You accuse me of giving roses, kisses, and love. No, sir, no
falsehoods! you do not love me.”
“Madame, I saw these phantoms. Pity me, for I am on the rack.”
She took his hands. “Yes, you saw, and you think it was I. Well, if
here under this same tree, you at my feet, I press your hands, and say
to you, ‘M, de Charny, I love you, I have loved, and shall love no one
else in this world, may God pardon me’—will that convince you? Will you
believe me then?” As she spoke, she came so close to him that he felt
her breath on his lips. “Oh!” cried Charny, “now I am ready to die.”
“Give me your arm,” said she, “and teach me where they went, and where
she gave the rose,”—and she took from her bosom a rose and held it to
him. He took it and pressed it to his heart.
“Then,” continued she, “the other gave him her hand to kiss.”
“Both her hands,” cried Charny, pressing his burning lips passionately
on hers.
“Now they visited, the baths—so will we; follow me to the place.” He
followed her, like a man in a strange, happy dream. They looked all
round, then opened the door, and walked through. Then they came out
again: two o’clock struck. “Adieu,” said she; “go home until
to-morrow.” And she walked away quickly towards the château.
When they were gone, a man rose from among the bushes. He had heard and
seen all.