“Easily enough, and your majesty will see who is friendly to you. What misfortune has happened to your majesty during these three and twenty years past—”
“Serious misfortunes, indeed; have I not lost the king?”
“I speak not of misfortunes of that kind. I wish to ask you, if, since the birth of the king, any indiscretion on a friend’s part has caused your majesty the slightest serious anxiety, or distress?”
“I do not understand you,” replied the queen, clenching her teeth in order to conceal her emotion.
“I will make myself understood, then. Your majesty remembers that the king was born on the 5th of September, 1638, at a quarter past eleven o’clock.”
“Yes,” stammered out the queen.
“At half-past twelve,” continued the Beguine, “the dauphin, who had been baptized by Monseigneur de Meaux in the king’s and your own presence, was acknowledged as the heir of the crown of France. The king then went to the chapel of the old Chateau de Saint-Germain, to hear the Te Deum chanted.”
“Quite true, quite true,” murmured the queen.
“Your majesty’s conferment took place in the presence of Monsieur, his majesty’s late uncle, of the princes, and of the ladies attached to the court. The king’s physician, Bouvard, and Honore, the surgeon, were stationed in the ante-chamber; your majesty slept from three o’clock until seven, I believe.”
“Yes, yes; but you tell me no more than every one else knows as well as you and myself.”