ONE VIRTUE LEFT.
“Madame, your highness.”
The queen, who had been somewhat moved by Dame Tillery’s earnestness,
met her return with a pleasant, questioning look.
“Your highness, before coming here I made a promise. Yonder page, who
has something that he wishes to lay before your highness, besought me to
let him follow my poor footsteps to the royal presence. Bethinking me of
the great good which chanced to the young demoiselle who was made so
happy yesterday, simply because she came under Dame Tillery’s wing, I
could but give this young man his opportunity.”
The good-humor with which Marie Antoinette had received the woman, who
took such extraordinary liberties, was not yet exhausted. She glanced
toward the page, and her practised eye discovered at once that he must
belong to some powerful family. She made an assenting gesture with her
hand, which the page comprehended even better than Dame Tillery, and he
advanced at once.
Marie Antoinette’s keen eyes were bent on his face as he came clearly
out of the shadows. Somewhere, it seemed to her, that she had seen it
before, but she could not recognize the colors that ought to have
distinguished him as the follower of any great family well known to the
court, and was a little puzzled to guess who he was.
Nothing could be more courtly than the manner of the page as he drooped
his hat, and bent his perfumed head low before the queen.
“You have some message? You would speak with us?” she said, with that
gentle grace in which she was surpassed by no queen in Europe.
“Your highness, may I crave an especial indulgence, and ask that my
message may be given to your majesty alone?”
The queen looked at her strange visitor searchingly a moment, then waved
her hand; at which Madame Campan drew discreetly out of ear-shot, after
giving Dame Tillery the signal that she was expected to withdraw.
“Now,” said the queen, “what is the message you bring, and from whom?”
She lifted her hand as she spoke, from which the glove had been
withdrawn, and among the jewels that blazed on the slender fingers was
the serpent holding that scarabee in its folds. Marie Antoinette saw
that the face she looked upon was turning coldly pale; this agitation
disturbed her a little, and she drew a step back, watching it keenly.
“I come,” said the page at length, recovering from what seemed to have
been a sudden shock, “I come from one who wishes to be a friend to the
Queen of France, and who may have some power to aid her; but at present
I am forbidden to reveal the name.”
“This is a strange message,” said the queen.
“Not strange, unless gratitude is unusual,” answered the page, with
profound respect. “This person has once received great kindness and much
undeserved forbearance from the King and Queen of France, and she would
gladly prove, in some way, that the favors so royally conferred have not
been thrown away.”
A faint and almost bitter smile curled the lips of the queen.
“This is, indeed, a stranger thing than I dreamed of. Does some one
offer the king help out of simple gratitude?”
“Out of simple gratitude, nothing more. Nay, so anxious is the lady——”
“Then your principal is a lady,” cried the queen, interrupting him, “and
one who has been the recipient of royal favors, too; this is more and
more remarkable. Well, what is it that she wishes?”
“Only this, your highness; through the royal munificence this lady has
become rich.”
The queen lifted her hand while she seemed to reflect; but after a
little she shook her head.
“There have been so many such, that I fail to guess at your mistress
from the number: but out of them all she seems to be foremost in finding
a memory for thanks.”
“My mistress would do more. She has heard—it may not be true—but she has
heard that in these disturbed times the royal exchequer is often in want
of money. She has some to spare, that is, to give back, if it will help
the king to struggle through the difficulties that beset the throne.”
Marie Antoinette drew herself up as the object of this speech dawned
upon her; but the color gradually grew fainter on her face, and a flush,
as of hardly suppressed tears, came about her eyes when the page ceased
speaking, and with downcast look awaited her answer.
“This is kind, but very, very strange,” she said, as if reasoning with
herself. “Where and when have we dealt so generously with this lady,
that she is ready to stand by the throne when so many that should have
upheld it to the last are ready to flee anywhere to save themselves even
from unpopularity.”
“I was forbidden to explain further than I have already done,” answered
the page; “but of this your highness may be certain, so long as my
mistress possesses a Louis d’or, it belongs to the Queen of France.”
Marie Antoinette was touched by this strange offer. Such generous acts
had been very rare with the court of late; and she felt this all the
more keenly. She would have given much to know who the friend was who
offered such help, and yet concealed everything.
“That your highness may have no doubt,” continued the page, “I was
empowered to beg your acceptance of this, and to say that twice the
amount will await the royal order whenever it is needed.”
The page took from the bosom of his dress a slip of paper, which
represented so large a sum of money that the queen opened her eyes in
astonishment.
“There is no need of this now,” she said, with deep feeling; “take it
back to the generous lady who sent it. Say that the queen is grateful,
but can yet look to the people of France for such support as the throne
may need.”
“But should the time ever come?” said the page, receiving the order with
hesitation.
“Then we will refuse help from no loyal man or woman of France who has
power or wealth to give—for it will be for the nation not ourselves that
we shall receive.”
“May the time be far away when France shall be so menaced,” said the
page, looking wistfully at the queen’s hand, from which the green tints
of the scarabee stood out in dull relief among so many jewels. “But the
time may come when even the best friends of the monarchy may not find
easy access to the queen, when even the little help my mistress could
give would not find its way to the royal coffers.”
“Nay, this is a dark view to take even of gloomy times. Those who love
their sovereigns have seldom found it difficult to gain access to them
through friends or enemies.”
“Even now,” said the page, “when my object was a loyal one, I was
compelled to crave assistance from yonder good-natured dame, who almost
forced a passage for me through the guards.”
The queen looked toward Dame Tillery, who was walking up and down in a
neighboring avenue, watching the interview between her protegé and the
queen with some jealousy and impatience. The smile which brightened that
beautiful face seemed to encourage the page.
“If I had anything that would insure me entrance to the royal presence
without such delay as has impeded me now,” he said, looking so wistfully
at the queen’s hand that she observed the glance.
“That is easy,” she said, with the quick imprudence of action which cost
her so dearly, “one of these——”
She was about to take one of the jewels from her finger, but with an
impulse he could not control, the page cried out,
“Not that; not that, your highness, it is of value; but that serpent
with the dull-green beetle in its coil. Oh! I pray you, let me have that
as a token!”
Marie Antoinette drew the scarabee half off her finger, then thrust it
back, remembering how little she knew of the person before her.
“No,” she murmured, “this is a talisman;” and with a sudden gesture of
dismissal, she walked toward Madame Campan, leaving the page standing
there, trembling under what might have seemed a trivial disappointment.