CHAPTER CII.
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."