The queen, however, to all appearances entered, as usual, eagerly into the game.
Philippe, who, with his sister, was admitted to the party, in vain endeavored to shake from his mind his father’s words. He asked himself if indeed this old man, who had seen so much of courts, was not right; and if his own ideas were indeed those of a Puritan, and belonging to another land. This queen, so charming, so beautiful, and so friendly towards him, was she indeed only a terrible coquette, anxious to add one lover more to her list, as the entomologist transfixes a new insect or butterfly, without thinking of the tortures of the poor creature whose heart he is piercing? “Coigny, Vaudreuil,” repeated he to himself, “they loved the queen, and were loved by her. Oh, why does this calumny haunt me so, or why will not some ray of light discover to me the heart of this woman?”
Then Philippe turned his eyes to the other end of the table, where, by a strange chance, these gentlemen were sitting side by side, and both seemingly equally forgetful of, and insensible to, the queen; and he thought that it was impossible that these men could have loved and be so calm, or that they could have been loved and seem so forgetful. From them he turned to look at Marie Antoinette herself and interrogated that pure forehead, that haughty mouth, and beautiful face; and the answer they all seemed to give him was: calumnies, all calumnies, these rumors, originating only in the hates and jealousies of a court.
While he was coming to these conclusions the clock struck a quarter to eight, and at that moment a great noise of footsteps and the sound of many voices were heard on the staircase. The king, hearing it, signed to the queen, and they both rose and broke up the game. She then passed into the great reception-hall, and the king followed her.
An aide-de-camp of M. de Castries, Minister of Marine, approached the king and said something in a low tone, when M. de Castries himself entered, and said aloud, “Will your majesty receive M. de Suffren, who has arrived from Toulon?”
At this name a general movement took place in the assembly.
“Yes, sir,” said the king, “with great pleasure;” and M. de Castries left the room.
To explain this interest for M. de Suffren, and why king, queen, princes, and ministers contended who should be the first to receive him, a few words will suffice.
Suffren is a name essentially French, like Turenne or Jean Bart. Since the last war with England, M. de Suffren had fought seven great naval battles without sustaining a defeat. He had taken Trincomalee and Gondeleur, scoured the seas, and taught the Nabob Hyder Ali that France was the first Power in Europe. He had carried into his profession all the skill of an able diplomatist, all the bravery and all the tactics of a soldier, and all the prudence of a wise ruler. Hardy, indefatigable, and proud when the honor of the French nation was in question, he had harassed the English, by land and by sea, till even these fierce islanders were afraid of him.
But after the battle, in which he risked his life like the meanest sailor, he ever showed himself humane, generous, and compassionate. He was now about fifty-six years of age, stout and short, but with an eye of fire and a noble carriage, and, like a man accustomed to surmount all difficulties, he had dressed in his traveling-carriage.