M. de Charny entered, a little pale, but upright, and not apparently suffering.
“Take care, sister,” said the Comte d’Artois; “what is the use of asking so many people?”
“Brother, I will ask the whole world, till I meet some one who will tell you you are deceived.”
Charny and Philippe bowed courteously to each other, and Philippe said in a low voice, “You are surely mad to come out wounded; one would say you wished to die.”
“One does not die from the scratch of a thorn in the Bois de Boulogne,” replied Charny.
The queen approached, and put an end to this conversation. “M. de Charny,” said she, “these gentlemen say that you were at the ball at the Opera?”
“Yes, your majesty.”
“Tell us what you saw there.”
“Does your majesty mean whom I saw there?”
“Precisely; and no complaisant reserve, M. de Charny.”