“She will answer that herself.”
“Who is she?”
“She is masked.”
“Go, Molina; go and see!” cried the queen.
“It is needless,” suddenly replied a voice, at once firm and gentle in its tone, which proceeded from the other side of the tapestry hangings; a voice which made the attendants start, and the queen tremble excessively. At the same moment, a masked female appeared through the hangings, and, before the queen could speak a syllable she added, “I am connected with the order of the Beguines of Bruges, and do, indeed, bring with me the remedy which is certain to effect a cure of your majesty’s complaint.” No one uttered a sound, and the Beguine did not move a step.
“Speak,” said the queen.
“I will, when we are alone,” was the answer.
Anne of Austria looked at her attendants, who immediately withdrew. The Beguine, thereupon, advanced a few steps towards the queen, and bowed reverently before her. The queen gazed with increasing mistrust at this woman, who, in her turn, fixed a pair of brilliant eyes upon her, through her mask.
“The queen of France must, indeed, be very ill,” said Anne of Austria, “if it is known at the Beguinage of Bruges that she stands in need of being cured.”
“Your majesty is not irremediably ill.”