THE MARRIAGE.
On the same day at noon the king entered a drawing-room, where the
queen was sitting in full dress, but pale through her rouge, and
surrounded by a party of ladies and gentlemen. He glanced frequently
towards the door. “Are not the young couple ready? I believe it is
noon,” he said.
“Sire, M. de Charny is waiting in the gallery for your majesty’s
orders,” said the queen, with a violent effort.
“Oh! let him come in.” The queen turned from the door. “The bride ought
to be here also,” continued the king, “it is time.”
“Your majesty must excuse Mademoiselle de Taverney, if she is late,”
replied M. de Charny, advancing; “for since the death of her father she
has not left her bed until to-day, and she fainted when she did so.”
“This dear child loved her father so much,” replied the king, “but we
hope a good husband will console her. M. de Breteuil,” said he, turning
to that gentleman, “have you made out the order of banishment for M. de
Cagliostro?”
“Yes, sire.”
“And that De la Motte. Is it not to-day she is to be branded?”
At this moment, Andrée appeared, dressed in white like a bride, and
with cheeks nearly as white as her dress. She advanced leaning on her
brother’s arm. M. de Suffren, leading his nephew, came to meet her, and
then drew back to allow her to approach the king.
“Mademoiselle,” said Louis, taking her hand, “I begged of you to hasten
this marriage, instead of waiting until the time of your mourning had
expired, that I might have the pleasure of assisting at the ceremony;
for to-morrow I and the queen commence a tour through France.” And he
led Andrée up to the queen, who could hardly stand, and did not raise
her eyes. The king then, putting Andrée’s hand into Philippe’s, said,
“Gentlemen, to the chapel,”—and they began to move. The queen kneeled
on her prie Dieu, her face buried in her hands, praying for strength.
Charny, though pale as death, feeling that all eyes were upon him,
appeared calm and strong. Andrée remained immovable as a statue; she
did not pray—she had nothing to ask, to hope for, or to fear. The
ceremony over, the king kissed Andrée on the forehead, saying, “Madame
la Comtesse, go to the queen, she wishes to give you a wedding
present.”
“Oh!” murmured Andrée to Philippe, “it is too much; I can bear no more;
I cannot do that.”
“Courage, sister, one effort more.”
“I cannot, Philippe; if she speaks to me, I shall die.”
“Then, you will be happier than I, for I cannot die.”
Andrée said no more, but went to the queen. She found her in her chair
with closed eyes and clasped hands, seeming more dead than alive,
except for the shudders which, shook her from time to time. Andrée
waited tremblingly to hear her speak; but, after a minute, she rose
slowly, and took from the table a paper, which she put into Andrée’s
hands. Andrée opened it, and read:
“Andrée, you have saved me. My honor comes from you; my life belongs to
you. In the name of this honor, which has cost you so dear, I swear to
you that you may call me sister without blushing. This paper is the
pledge of my gratitude, the dowry which I give you. Your heart is noble
and will thank me for this gift.
“MARIE ANTOINETTE DE LORRAINE D’AUTRICHE.”
Andrée looked at the queen, and saw tears falling from her eyes; she
seemed expecting an answer, but Andrée, putting the letter in the fire,
turned and left the room. Then Charny, who was waiting for her, took
her hand, and they, each pale and silent, left the room. Two
traveling-carriages were in the courtyard; Andrée got into one, and
then said:
“Sir, I believe you go to Picardy.”
“Yes, madame.”
“And I to where my mother lies dead. Adieu, monsieur.”
Charny bowed, but did not reply, and Andrée drove off.
Charny himself, after giving his hand to Philippe, got into the other,
and also drove off.
Then Philippe cried, in a tone of anguish, “My task is done!” and he
too vanished.