RICHELIEU,
A TALE OF FRANCE.
I advise you that you read
The Cardinal's malice and his potency
Together: to consider further, that
What his high hatred would effect, wants not
A minister in his power.
SHAKSPEARE.
IN THREE VOLUMES.
VOL. II.
LONDON:
HENRY COLBURN, NEW BURLINGTON STREET.
1829.
LONDON:
PRINTED BY S. AND R. BENTLEY,
Dorset Street, Fleet Street.
RICHELIEU.
CHAPTER I.
The motto of which should be "Out of the frying-pan into the fire."
The jingle of Claude de Blenau's spurs, as he descended with a quick
step the staircase of the Palais Cardinal, told as plainly as a pair of
French spurs could tell, that his heart was lightened of a heavy load
since he had last tried their ascent; and the spring of his foot, as he
leaped upon his horse, spoke much of renewed hope, and banished
apprehension.
But the Devil of it is--(for I must use that homely but happy
expression)--the Devil of it is, that the rebound of hope raises us as
much above the level of truth, as the depression of fear sinks us below
it: and De Blenau, striking his spurs into the sides of his horse,
cantered off towards St. Germain as gaily as if all doubt and danger
were over, and began to look upon bastilles, tortures, and racks, with
all the other et-cetera of Richelieu's government, as little better than
chimeras of the imagination, with which he had nothing farther to do.
Hope sets off at a hand gallop, Consideration soon contents herself with
a more moderate pace, and Doubt is reduced, at best, to a slow trot.
Thus, as De Blenau began to reflect, he unconsciously drew in the bridle
of his horse; and before he had proceeded one league on the way to St.
Germain's, the marks of deep thought were evident both in the pace of
the courser and the countenance of the rider; De Blenau knitting his
brow and biting his lip, as the various dangers that surrounded him
crossed his mind; and the gentle barb, seemingly animated by the same
spirit as his master, bending his arched neck and throwing out his feet
with as much consideration as if the firm _Chemin de St. Germain_ had
been no better than a quagmire.
De Blenau well knew that even in France a man might smile, and smile,
and be a villain; and that the fair words of Richelieu too often
preceded his most remorseless actions. He remembered also the warning of
Mademoiselle de Bourbon, and felt too strongly how insecure a warranty
was conscious innocence for his safety; but still he possessed that sort
of chivalrous pride which made him look upon flight as degrading under
any circumstances, and more especially so when the danger was most
apparent. Like the lion, he might have slowly avoided the hunters while
unattacked; but once pressed by the chace, he turned to resist or to
suffer. Such was the quality of his mind; and in the present instance he
resolved to await his fate with firmness, whatsoever that fate might
be.
I know not whether an author, like an Old Bailey witness, be, by the
laws in that case made and provided, obliged to tell, on every occasion,
not only the truth, but the whole truth: however, lest I should offend
against any known or unknown statute, be it remarked, that the whole
credit due to the determination of De Blenau is not to be attributed to
that great and magnanimous quality, called by some persons _undaunted
resolution_, and by others _fool-hardiness_; for in this as in almost
every other proceeding of the human heart, there were two or three
little personal motives which mingled with all his ideas, and, without
his knowing any thing about it, brought his reasoning to the conclusion
aforesaid.
Of these little motives I shall only pick out one as a specimen; but
this one in the breast of a young man of five and twenty, living in a
romantic age, and blest with a romantic disposition, may be considered
all sufficient. Now if it should be love!--As I write this volume
entirely for ladies, we are all agreed.--Love it was! and who is there
that will presume to say, Claude de Blenau was not completely justified
in resolving to hazard all, rather than part with Pauline de Beaumont?
As long as any hesitation had remained in the mind of De Blenau, he had
proceeded, as we have seen, with a slow unequal pace; but the moment his
determination was fixed, his thoughts turned towards St. Germain's, and
all his ideas concentrating into one of those daydreams, that every
young heart is fond to indulge, he spurred on his horse, eager to
realize some, at least, of the bright promises which hope so liberally
held forth. It was late, however, before he arrived at the end of his
journey, and internally cursing the etiquette which required him to
change his dress before he could present himself at the Palace, he sent
forward his Page to announce his return, and beg an audience of the
Queen.
His toilet was not long, and without waiting for the boy's return, he
set out on foot, hoping to join the Queen's circle before it separated
for the evening. In this he was disappointed. Anne of Austria was alone;
and though her eyes sparkled with gladness for his unexpected return,
and her reception was as kind as his good services required, De Blenau
would have been better pleased to have been welcomed by other lips.
"I could scarce credit the news till I saw you, _mon Chambellan_," said
the Queen, extending her hand for him to kiss; "nor can I truly believe
it is you that I behold even now. How have you escaped from that
dreadful man?"
"I will tell your Majesty all that has happened," replied the Count;
"and as I have a boon to ask, I think I must represent my sufferings in
your Majesty's cause in the most tremendous colours. But without a jest,
I have had little to undergo beyond a forced attendance at the
Cardinal's fête, where the only hard word I received was from L'Angeli,
the Duke of Enghien's fool, who, seeing my riding-dress, asked if I were
Puss in Boots." De Blenau then shortly related all that had occurred
during his stay in Paris. "And thus, Madam," he added, "you see that
Chavigni has kept his word; for had it not been for that promise, I
doubt not I should have been even now comfortably lodged in the
Bastille, with a table at his Majesty's expense."
The Queen mused for a moment without making any reply; but from her
countenance it seemed that she was not a little troubled by what she had
heard.
"De Blenau," said she at length, in a calm but melancholy voice, "there
is something concealed here. The Cardinal has deeper plans in view. As
Marie de Bourbon told you, they are plotting my ruin. When first I
entered France, that man of blood and treachery resolved to make me his
slave. He flattered my tastes, he prevented my wishes, like an insidious
serpent he wound himself into my confidence; and I was weak enough to
dream that my husband's minister was my best friend. With as much vanity
as insolence, he mistook condescension for love. He sought his
opportunity, and dared to insult my ears with his wishes. I need not
tell you, De Blenau, what was my reply; but it was such as stung him to
the soul. He rose from where he had been kneeling at my feet, and
threatened such vengeance, that, as he said, my whole life should be one
long succession of miseries. Too truly has he kept his word."--The Queen
paused, and as was often her custom when any circumstance called her
memory back to the bitter events of her past life, fell into a deep
reverie, from which it was not easy to rouse her.
"Too much of this," said she at length; "we must look to the present, De
Blenau. As the mother of two princes, Richelieu both hates and fears me;
and I see that they are plotting my ruin. But yours shall not be
involved therein.--De Blenau, you must fly till this storm has passed
by."
"Pardon me, madam," replied the Count, "but in this I cannot yield your
Majesty that obedience I would willingly show under any other
circumstances. I cannot, I must not fly. My own honour, madam, requires
that I should stay; for if flight be not construed into an evidence of
guilt, it may at least be supposed a sign of cowardice."
"Indeed, indeed! De Blenau," said the Queen, earnestly, "you must do as
I require; nay," she added, with a mixture of sweetness and dignity, "as
I command. If they can prove against you that you have forwarded letters
from me to my brother the King of Spain, they will bring you to the
block, and will most likely ruin me."
"I trust to the promise your Majesty gave me when first I undertook to
have those letters conveyed to your royal brother King Philip," answered
De Blenau: "you then pledged to me your word that they were alone of a
domestic nature, and that they should always continue so, without ever
touching upon one subject of external or internal policy, so that my
allegiance to my king, and my duty to my country, should alike remain
pure and inviolate. I doubt not that your Majesty has pointedly kept
this promise; and De Blenau will never fly, while he can lay his hand
upon his heart and feel himself innocent."
"Yes, but remember, my good youth," replied the Queen, "that this
Cardinal,--my husband's tyrant rather than his subject,--has commanded
me, his Queen, to forbear all correspondence with my brother, and has
narrowly watched me to prevent that very communication between Philip
and myself, which your kindness has found means to procure. Remember too
his remorseless nature; and then judge whether he will spare the man who
has rendered his precautions vain."
"Madam," replied De Blenau, "I do not fear; nothing shall make me fly.
Though there be no bounds to what the Cardinal dare attempt, yet his
power does not extend to make me a coward!"
"But for my sake," still persevered Anne of Austria, labouring to
persuade him to a measure on which she too well knew his safety
depended. "Remember, that if there be proved against me even so small a
crime as having sent those letters, my ruin is inevitable, and there are
modes of torture which will wrench a secret from the most determined
constancy."
"I fear me," replied De Blenau, "that some act of mine must have much
degraded me in your Majesty's opinion."
"No, no, my friend!" said the Queen; "not so indeed,--I do not doubt you
in the least: but I would fain persuade you, De Blenau, to that which I
know is best and safest."
"Your Majesty has now given me the strongest reasons for my stay,"
replied De Blenau, with a smile; "I have now the means of proving my
fidelity to you, and nothing shall tempt me to leave you at this moment.
But in the mean time there is one favour I have to request."
"Name it," replied, the Queen: "indeed, De Blenau, you might command
it."
"Your Majesty is too good," said the Count. "I will make my story as
brief as possible, but I must explain to you, that Mademoiselle de
Beaumont and myself were plighted to each other when very young."
"I know it, I know it all," interrupted the Queen, "and that you love
each other still; and believe me, my dear De Blenau, neither time nor
disappointment has so frozen my heart that I cannot enter warmly into
all you feel. Perhaps you never discovered that Anne of Austria was an
enthusiast.--But tell me, what difficulty has occurred between you?"
"Why, in truth, Madam," answered De Blenau, "the difficulty arises with
your Majesty."
"With me!" cried the Queen. "With me, De Blenau! impossible! Nothing
could give me more pleasure than to see your union. This Pauline of
yours is one of the sweetest girls that ever I beheld; and with all her
native un-bought graces, she looks amongst the rest of the court like a
wild rose in a flower-garden,--not so cultivated, in truth, but more
simply elegant, and sweeter than them all."
Those who say that all is selfishness, let them tell me how it is that
one simple word in praise of those we love, will give a thousand times
more pleasure than the warmest commendation of ourselves.
De Blenau's heart beat, and his eye sparkled, and he paused a moment ere
he could reply; nor indeed were his first sentences very distinct. He
said a great deal about her Majesty's goodness,--and his own
happiness,--and Pauline's excellence; all in that sort of confused way,
which would make it appear simple nonsense were it written down; but
which very clearly conveyed to the Queen how much he loved Pauline, and
how much obliged he was to her Majesty for praising her.
After this, he entered rather more regularly into a detail of those
circumstances which had induced Mademoiselle de Beaumont to suspect him.
"The point which seems to affect her most," continued De Blenau, "is the
visit with which Mademoiselle de Hauteford honoured me by your Majesty's
command, in order to receive from me the last letter from your Majesty
to the King of Spain, which I was unhappily prevented from forwarding
by my late wounds. Now this, as affecting the character of the Lady your
Majesty employed in the business, does certainly require some
explanation. In regard to every thing else, Pauline will, I feel sure,
consider my word sufficient."
"Oh, leave it all to me, leave it all to me!" exclaimed the Queen,
laughing. "What! jealous already is she, fair maid? But fear not, De
Blenau. Did she know you as well as I do, she would doubt herself sooner
than De Blenau. However, I undertake to rob the rose of its thorn for
you, and leave love without jealousy. A woman is very easily convinced
where she loves, and it will be hard if I cannot show her that she has
been in the wrong. But take no unworthy advantage of it, De Blenau," she
continued; "for a woman's heart will not hesitate at trifles, when she
wishes to make reparation to a man she loves."
"All the advantage I could ever wish to take," replied the Count,
"would be, to claim her hand without delay."
"Nay, nay--that is but a fair advantage," said the Queen. "Yet,"
continued she, after a moment's pause, "it were not wise to draw the
eyes of suspicion upon us at this moment. But there are such things as
private marriages, De Blenau."--
There was no small spice of romance in the character of Anne of Austria;
and this, on more than one occasion, led her into various circumstances
of danger, affecting both herself and the state. Of an easy and generous
spirit, she always became the partisan of the oppressed, and any thing
that interested or excited her feelings, was certain to meet
encouragement and support, however chimerical or hazardous; while plans
of more judgment and propriety were either totally discountenanced, or
improperly pursued. This appeared through her whole life, but more
especially at an after period, when the Government fell into her own
hands, and when, like a child with some fine and complicated machine,
she played with the engine of the state, till she deranged all its
functions.
It was, perhaps, this spirit of romance, more than any political
consideration, which, in the present instance, made her suggest to the
Count de Blenau the idea of a private marriage with Pauline de Beaumont;
and he, as ardent as herself, and probably as romantic, caught eagerly
at a proposal which seemed to promise a more speedy union with the
object of his love, than was compatible with all the tedious ceremonies
and wearisome etiquette attendant upon a court-marriage of that day.
"I shall not see your Pauline to-night," said the Queen, continuing the
conversation which this proposal had induced. "She excused herself
attending my evening circle, on account of a slight indisposition; but
to-morrow I will explain every thing on your part, and propose to her
myself what we have agreed upon."
"She is not ill, I trust?" said De Blenau.
"Oh no!" replied the Queen, smiling at the anxiety of his look, "not
enough even to alarm a lover, I believe."
This answer, however, was not sufficient for De Blenau, and taking leave
of the Queen, he sent for one of Madame de Beaumont's servants, through
whose intervention he contrived to obtain an audience of no less a
person than Louise, Pauline's _suivante_. Now Louise was really a pretty
woman, and doubtless her face might have claimed remembrance from many a
man who had nothing else to think of. De Blenau remembered it too, but
without any reference to its beauty, which, indeed, he had never stayed
to inquire into.
It must be remembered, that the morning previous to his journey to
Paris, the moment before he was joined by Chavigni, his eye had been
attracted by that nobleman, engaged in earnest conversation with a girl,
habited in the dress of dear Languedoc; and he now found in the
_soubrette_ of Mademoiselle de Beaumont, the very individual he had seen
in such circumstances. All this did not very much enhance the regard of
De Blenau towards Louise; and he satisfied himself with a simple inquiry
concerning her mistress's health, adding a slight recommendation to
herself, to take care whom she gossiped with while she remained at St.
Germain, conveyed in that stately manner, which made Louise resolve to
hate him most cordially for the rest of her life, and declare that he
was not half so nice a gentleman as Monsieur de Chavigni, who was a
counsellor into the bargain.
After a variety of confused dreams, concerning queens and cardinals,
bastilles and private marriages, De Blenau woke to enjoy one of those
bright mornings which often shine out in the first of autumn,--memorials
of summer, when summer itself is gone. It was too early to present
himself at the Palace; but he had now a theme on which his thoughts were
not unwilling to dwell, and therefore as soon as he was dressed, he
sauntered out, most lover-like, into the Park, occupied with the hope of
future happiness, and scarcely sensible of any external thing, save the
soothing influence of the morning air, and the cheerful hum of
awakening nature.
As time wore on, however,--and, probably, it did so faster than he
fancied,--his attention was called towards the Palace by an unusual
degree of bustle and activity amongst the attendants, who were now seen
passing to and fro along the terrace, with all the busy haste of a nest
of emmets disturbed in their unceasing industry.
His curiosity being excited, he quitted the principal alley in which he
had been walking, and ascending the flight of steps leading to the
terrace, entered the Palace by the small door of the left wing. As none
of the servants immediately presented themselves, he proceeded by one of
the side staircases to the principal saloon, where he expected to meet
some of the _valets de chambre_, who generally at that hour awaited the
rising of the Queen.
On opening the door, however, he was surprised to find Anne of Austria,
already risen, together with the Dauphin and the young Duke of Anjou,
the principal ladies of the court, and several menial attendants, all
habited in travelling costume; while various trunk-mails, saddle-bags,
portmanteaus, &c. lay about the room; some already stuffed to the gorge
with their appropriate contents, and others opening their wide jaws to
receive whatever their owners chose to cram them withal.
As soon as De Blenau entered this scene of unprincely confusion, the
quick eyes of Anne of Austria lighted upon him, and, advancing from the
group of ladies to whom she had been speaking, she seemed surprised to
see him in the simple morning costume of the court.
"Why, De Blenau!" exclaimed she, "we wait for you, and you have neither
boots nor cloak. Have you not seen the Page I sent to you?"
"No, indeed, Madam," replied De Blenau; "but having loitered in the Park
some time, I have probably thus missed receiving your commands."
"Then you have not heard," said the Queen, "we have been honoured this
morning by a summons to join the King at Chantilly."
"Indeed!" rejoined De Blenau thoughtfully, "What should this mean, I
wonder? It is strange! Richelieu was to be there last night: so I heard
it rumoured yesterday in Paris."
"I fear me," answered the Queen, in a low tone, "that the storm is about
to burst upon our head. A servant informs me, that riding this morning,
shortly after sunrise, near that small open space which separates this,
the forest of Laye, from the great wood of Mantes, he saw a large party
of the Cardinal's guard winding along towards the wooden bridge, at
which we usually cross the river."
"Oh I think nothing of that," replied the Count. "Your Majesty must
remember, that this Cardinal has his men scattered all over the
country:--but, at all events, we can take the stone bridge farther down.
At what time does your Majesty depart? I will but pay my compliments to
these ladies, and then go to command the attendance of my train, which
will at all events afford some sort of escort."
During this dialogue, the Queen had looked from time to time towards the
group of ladies who remained in conversation at the other end of the
apartment; and with that unsteadiness of thought peculiar to her
character, she soon forgot all her fears and anxieties, as she saw the
dark eye of Pauline de Beaumont wander every now and then with a furtive
glance towards De Blenau, and then suddenly fall to the ground, or fix
upon vacancy, as if afraid of being caught in such employment.
Easily reading every line expressive of a passion to which she had once
been so susceptible, the Queen turned with a playful smile to De Blenau.
"Come," said she, "I will save you the trouble of paying your
compliments to more than one of those ladies, and she shall stand your
proxy to all the rest. Pauline--Mademoiselle de Beaumont," she
continued, raising her voice, "come hither, Flower! I would speak a word
with you."
Pauline came forward--not unhappy in truth, but with the blood rushing
up into her cheeks and forehead, till timidity became actual pain, while
the clear cold blue eye of Mademoiselle de Hauteford followed her across
the room, as if she wondered at feelings she herself had apparently
never experienced.
De Blenau advanced and held out his hand. Pauline instantly placed hers
in it, and in the confusion of the moment laid the other upon it also.
"Well," said the Queen with a smile, "De Blenau, you must be satisfied
now. Nay, be not ashamed, Pauline; it is all right, and pure, and
natural."
"I am not ashamed, Madam," replied Pauline, seeming to gain courage from
the touch of her lover; "I have done De Blenau wrong in ever doubting
one so good and so noble as he is: but he will forgive me now, I know,
and I will never do him wrong again."
I need not proceed farther with all this. De Blenau and Pauline enjoyed
one or two moments of unmingled happiness, and then the Queen reminded
them that he had yet to dress for his journey, and to prepare his
servants to accompany the carriages. This, however, was soon done, and
in less than half an hour De Blenau rejoined the party in the saloon of
the Palace.
"Now, De Blenau," said the Queen, as soon as she saw him, "you are
prepared for travelling at all points. For once be ruled, and instead of
accompanying me to Chantilly, make the best of your way to Franche
Comté, or to Flanders, for I much fear that the Cardinal has not yet
done with you. I will take care of your interests while you are gone,
even better than I would my own; and I promise you that as soon as you
are in safety, Madame De Beaumont and Pauline shall follow you, and you
may be happy surely, though abroad, for a few short years, till
Richelieu's power or his life be passed away."
De Blenau smiled. "Nay, nay," replied he, "that would not be like a
gallant Knight and true, either to desert my Queen or my Lady Love.
Besides, I am inclined to believe that this journey to Chantilly bodes
us good rather than harm. For near three months past, the King has been
there almost alone with Cinq Mars, who is as noble a heart as e'er the
world produced, and is well affected towards your Majesty.--So I am
looking forward to brighter days."
"Well, we shall see," said the Queen, with a doubtful shake of the head.
"You are young, De Blenau, and full of hopes--all _that_ has passed away
with me.--Now let us go. I have ordered the carriages to wait at the end
of the terrace, and we will walk thither:--perhaps it may be the last
time I shall ever see my favourite walk; for who knows if any of us will
ever return?"
With these melancholy anticipations, the Queen took the arm of Madame de
Beaumont, and, followed by the rest, led the way to the terrace, from
which was to be seen the vast and beautiful view extending from St.
Germain's over Paris to the country beyond, taking in all the windings
of the river Seine, with the rich woods through which it flowed.
The light mists of an autumnal morning still hung about the various
dells and slopes, softening, but not obscuring the landscape; and every
now and then the sunbeams would catch upon a tower or a spire in the
distant landscape, and create a glittering spot amidst the dark brown
woods round about.
It is ever a bright scene, that view from St. Germain, and many have
been the royal and the fair, and the noble, whose feet have trod the
terrace of Henry the Fourth; but seldom, full seldom, has there been
there, a group of greater loveliness or honour than that which then
followed Anne of Austria from the Palace. The melancholy which hung over
the whole party took from them any wish for farther conversation, than a
casual comment upon the beauties of the view; and thus they walked on
nearly in silence, till they had approached within a few hundred yards
of the extremity, where they were awaited by the carriages prepared for
the Queen and her ladies, together with the attendants of De Blenau.
At that moment the quick clanging step of armed men was heard following,
and all with one impulse turned to see who it was that thus seemed to
pursue them.
The party which had excited their attention, consisted of a soldier-like
old man, who seemed to have ridden hard, and half-a-dozen chasseurs of
the guard, who followed him at about ten or twelve paces distance.
"It is the Count de Thiery," said De Blenau; "I know him well: as good
an old soldier as ever lived."
Notwithstanding De Blenau's commendation, Anne of Austria appeared
little satisfied with the Count's approach, and continued walking on
towards the carriages with a degree of anxiety in her eye, which
speedily communicated feelings of the same kind to her attendants.
Pauline, unacquainted with the intrigues and anxieties of the court, saw
from the countenances of all around that something was to be
apprehended; and magnifying the danger from uncertainty in regard to its
nature, she instinctively crept close to De Blenau, as certain of
finding protection there.
Judging at once the cause of De Thiery's coming, De Blenau drew the arm
of Pauline through his, and lingered a step behind, while the rest of
the party proceeded.
"Dear Pauline!" said he, in a low but firm tone of voice, "my own
Pauline! prepare yourself for what is coming! I think you will find that
this concerns me. If so, farewell! and remember, whatever be my fate,
that De Blenau has loved you ever faithfully, and will love you till his
last hour--Beyond that--God only knows! but if ever human affection
passed beyond the tomb, my love for you will endure in another state."
By this time they had reached the steps, at the bottom of which the
carriages were in waiting, and at the same moment the long strides of
the Count de Thiery had brought him to the same spot.
"Well, Monsieur de Thiery!" said Anne of Austria, turning sharp round,
and speaking in that shrill tone which her voice assumed whenever she
was agitated either by fear or anger; "your haste implies bad news. Does
your business lie with me?"
"No, so please your Majesty," replied the old soldier; "no farther than
to wish you a fair journey to Chantilly, and to have the pleasure of
seeing your Majesty to your carriage."
The Queen paused, and regarded the old man for a moment with a steady
eye, while he looked down upon the ground and played with the point of
his grey beard, in no very graceful embarrassment.
"Very well!" replied she at length; "you, Monsieur de Thiery, shall hand
me to my carriage. So, De Blenau, I shall not need your attendance.
Mount your horse and ride on."
"Pardon me, your Majesty," said De Thiery, stepping forward with an air
of melancholy gravity, but from which all embarrassment was now
banished. "Monsieur de Blenau," he continued, "I have a most unpleasant
task to accomplish: I am sorry to say you must give me up your sword;
but be assured that you render it to a man of honour, who will keep it
as a precious and invaluable charge, till he can give it back to that
hand, which he is convinced will always use it nobly."
"I foresaw it plainly!" cried the Queen, and turned away her head.
Pauline clasped her hands and burst into tears: but amongst the
attendants of De Blenau, who during this conversation had one by one
mounted the steps of the terrace, there was first a whisper, then a loud
murmur, then a shout of indignation, and in a moment a dozen swords were
gleaming in the sunshine.
Old De Thiery laid his hand upon his weapon, but De Blenau stopped him
in his purpose.
"Silence!" cried he in a voice of thunder; "Traitors, put up your
swords!--My good friends," added he, in a gentler tone, as he saw
himself obeyed, "those swords, which have before so well defended their
master, must never be drawn in a cause that De Blenau could blush to
own. Monsieur le Comte de Thiery," he continued, unbuckling his weapon,
"I thank you for the handsome manner in which you have performed a
disagreeable duty. I do not ask to see the _lettre de cachet_, which, of
course, you bear; for in giving you the sword of an honourable man, I
know I could not place it in better hands; and now, having done so,
allow me to lead her Majesty to her carriage, and I will then follow you
whithersoever you may have commands to bear me."
"Most certainly," replied De Thiery, receiving his sword; "I wait your
own time, and will remain here till you are at leisure."
De Blenau led the Queen to the carriage in silence, and having handed
her in, he kissed the hand she extended to him, begging her to rely upon
his honour and firmness. He next gave his hand to Pauline de Beaumont,
down whose cheeks the tears were streaming unrestrained. "Farewell,
dear Pauline! farewell!" he said. Her sobs prevented her answer, but her
hand clasped upon his with a fond and lingering pressure, which spoke
more to his heart than the most eloquent adieu.
Madame de Beaumont came next, and embraced him warmly. "God protect you,
my son!" said she, "for your heart is a noble one."
Mademoiselle de Hauteford followed, greeting De Blenau with a calm cold
smile and a graceful bow; and the rest of the royal suite having placed
themselves in other carriages, the cavalcade moved on. De Blenau stood
till they were gone. Raising his hat, he bowed with an air of unshaken
dignity as the Queen passed, and then turning to the terrace, he took
the arm of the Count de Thiery, and returned a prisoner to the Palace.