THE FOLLOWING DAY.
The queen was alone in her cabinet, which she had not left since she had
seen the sun rise. She had taken cold in the garden, and as a souvenir
of the event, had carried home a fever and a cough. But it was not
indisposition alone which blanched her cheeks. Something mightier than
fever glowed in her flashing eyes, something more painful than malady
threw that deadly paleness over her sweet, innocent face. From time to
time she glanced at a paper lying on the table before her, and every
time her eye fell upon it her brow grow darker.
There was a knock at the door. She started, and murmuring--"The
king!"--she flung her handkerchief over the papers, and throwing back
her head, compelled herself to calmness; while her husband, lifting the
silken portiere, advanced toward the table. She tried to rise, but Louis
came hastily to prevent it, saying: "I come to make inquiries concerning
your health; but if my presence is to disturb you, I shall retire."
"Remain, then, sire--I will not rise," said the queen, with a languid
smile.
"Are you still suffering?" said Louis.
"Only from a cold, sire; it will pass away."
"A cold, for which you are indebted to the chill night-air. It would
appear that the Queens of France, who lived and died without seeing the
sun rise, were not so stupid, after all."
The queen gave a searching look at the king's face, and saw that it was
disturbed.
"I went with your majesty's consent."
"I believe that I was wrong to give it," returned he, thoughtfully; "I
should have remembered that for a hundred years past the court of France
has been so corrupt that unhappily the French nation have lost all faith
in chastity and purity of heart. You, madame, must teach them to
distinguish the innocence which has nothing to conceal, from the
depravity which has lost all shame. But we must be cautious, and so
conduct ourselves, that our actions may be beyond misconstruction."
"Your majesty wishes me to infer that my harmless desire to behold one
of the glorious works of my Maker, has been misinterpreted?" said the
queen, opening her large eyes full upon her husband.
The king avoided her glance.
"No, no," said he, with embarrassment. "I speak not of what has been,
but of what might be."
"And this most innocent of wishes has inspired your majesty with these
apprehensions?"
"I do not say so, but--"
"But your majesty knows that it is so," cried the queen. "It is very
generous of you to save my feelings by concealing that which you know
must subject me to mortification; but others here are less magnanimous
than you, sire. I have already seen the obscene libel to which my
pleasure party has given birth. I have read 'Le lever de l'aurore.'"
"Who has dared to insult you by the sight of it?" asked Louis,
indignantly.
"Oh, sire," said Marie Antoinette, bitterly, "there are always good
friends, who are ready to wound us with the weapons of others. I found
the lampoon on my table this morning, among my letters."
"You shall not be exposed to a repetition of this. Campan shall look
over your papers before he presents them."
"Do you think I am likely to find them often, sire? I hope not. But be
that as it may, I am no coward. I have courage to face any amount of
calumny--for my heart is pure, and my life will vindicate me."
"It will, indeed," said the king, tenderly. "But you must keep aloof
from the poisonous atmosphere of slander. We must live less among the
multitude."
"Ah, sire, how can we keep aloof from those who have the right to be
near us?"
The king started, almost imperceptibly, and his anxious glance rested
upon his wife's honest, truthful eyes. Removing her handkerchief, she
pointed to a paper.
"This is the envelope in which I found 'Le lever de l'aurore.' The
handwriting is disguised; but tell me frankly if you do not recognize
it. _I_ do."
"I--really--I may be mistaken," began the king, "but--"
"Nay, you see that it is the hand of the Count de Provence, your own
brother, sire. He it is, who enjoys the cruel satisfaction of having
forced this indecent libel upon my notice, and I doubt not for one
moment that he also is the one who sent it to you. "
"Yes, no doubt, he did it to warn us, and we must be grateful and take
the warning to our hearts."
The queen laughed scornfully.
"Does your majesty suppose that these drawings were made with the same
benevolent intention?" said she, handing him a second paper. "Look at
these indecent caricatures, made still more obnoxious by the vulgar
observations attached to them. There is no disguise of his handwriting
here, for this was not intended for my eye. "
"Too true," sighed the king--"the drawings and the writing are both my
brother's. But who can have sent you these shameful sketches?"
"I told you just now, sire, that there are always people to be found,
who stab their friends with borrowed weapons. The drawings were
accompanied by a letter, informing me, that they were executed in the
saloons of Madame Adelaide, and that the remarks were the joint
productions of your majesty's brother and your aunts."
The king passed his handkerchief over his forehead, to dry the heavy
drops of sweat that were gathering there, and rose up, with the paper in
his hand.
"Where is your majesty going?" asked the queen.
"To my brother," cried he, indignantly. "I will show him this
disgraceful paper, and ask by what right he outrages my wife and his
queen! I shall tell him that his actions are those of a traitor and--"
"And when you have told him that, will you punish him as kings punish
traitors?"
The king was silent, and the queen continued, with a sad smile.
"You could not punish him; for the traitor who outrages the queen is the
brother of the king, and, therefore, he can outrage with impunity."
"He shall not do it with impunity! I will force him to honor and love
you."
"Ah, sire, love will not yield to force," said Marie Antoinette, in
atone of anguish. "Were I as pure as an angel, the Count de Provence
would hate me for my Austrian birth, and Madame Adelaide would use the
great influence she possesses over your majesty to rob me of the little
favor I am gaining in your sight."
"Oh, Antoinette, do you not feel that my whole heart is yours?" said
Louis, affectionately. "Believe me, when I say that it is in the power
of no human being to sully your sweet image in my eyes. Do not fear the
royal family. I am here to protect you, and, soon or late, your worth
will overcome their prejudices."
"No, sire, no. Nothing will ever win me their regard. But I am resolved
to brave their emnity, satisfied that, in the eyes of the world, my
conduct and my conscience both will sustain me."
"Your husband also," said the king, kissing her hand.
"Sire, I hope so," said Marie Antoinette, in a tremulous voice. "And
now," continued she, dashing away the tear-drops that were gathering in
her eyes, "now give me those caricatures. They have served to convince
your majesty that I know my enemies--and defy them. Their mission is
accomplished; let us try to forget their existence."
She took the drawings from his hand, and, tearing them to pieces,
scattered them over the carpet. The king picked up a few of the
fragments.
"Will you allow me to retain these as a souvenir of this hour?" said he,
gazing fondly upon her sweet face.
"Certainly, sire."
"But you know that princes can never receive a gift without returning
one. Therefore, do me the favor to accept this. It is paper for paper. "
He drew from his bosom a little package, to which the royal seal was
affixed, and Marie Antoinette took it, with a glance of surprise.
"What can it be?" said she, as she unfolded it.
He watched her as she read; and thought how beautiful she was, as,
blushing and smiling, she held out her hand to thank him.
"How, sire," said she, joyfully, "you make me this royal gift?"
"If you will accept it. The chateau de Trianon is a small estate, but
its mistress may at least find it a home where she will have liberty to
enjoy nature without exciting the malevolence of her enemies. No one can
watch you there, Antoinette; for your castle is not large enough to
lodge your slanderers. It will scarcely accommodate your friends."
"How can I ever thank you, sire?" said she, in grateful accents. "You
have understood my heart, and have gratified its weary longings for
occasional solitude. This, then, is my own private domain?"
"Certainly."
"And I may rule there without interference from state or etiquette?"
"Assuredly. As chatelaine of Trianon, you alone will regulate its
customs, and all who visit you, must submit to your rules."
"And no man can enter my chateau without an invitation?"
"Not even the king himself."
Marie Antoinette smiled until the pearls encased within her coral lips
dazzled the royal vision.
"How delightful!" said she. "I do not think that the Count de Provence
will ever be invited to Trianon."
"Nor I," replied Louis.
"But the king will be asked so often, that he will certainly wish he
were the Count de Provence. Still, he must promise not to come until he
receives his invitation."
"I promise, beautiful chatelaine."
"And then to come whenever I invite him."
"That I can promise more safely than the other."
"Upon your royal word?"
"Upon my royal word. And thus I seal it with a kiss upon your fair
hand."
"Upon my hand only, sire?" asked she, while she turned a cheek, whose
hue was like the rosy lining of a sea-shell.
Louis accepted the challenge, and pressed a kiss so passionate upon that
cheek, that it flushed to a deep, burning crimson, and the queen's eyes
were cast down, till nothing of them was visible except her long, dark
lashes.
The royal lover, too, grew very red, and stammered a few inaudible
words. Then bowing, awkwardly, he stumbled over an armchair, and
retreated in dire confusion.
Marie Antoinette looked after her clumsy king with a beating heart.
"Am I, indeed, to be blessed with his love?" thought the poor, young
thing. "If I am, I shall be the happiest and most enviable of women."