“Madame, I am not happy in my affections; in my family affections, I mean,” added Andrée, blushing.
“I do not understand you—you seemed happy yesterday.”
“No, madame,” replied Andrée, firmly. “Yesterday was one of the unhappy days of my life.”
“Explain yourself.”
“It would but fatigue your majesty, and the details are not worthy of your hearing. Suffice it to say, that I have no satisfaction in my family—that I have no good to expect in this world. I come, therefore, to beg your majesty’s permission to retire into a convent.”
The queen rose, and although with some effort to her pride, took Andrée’s hand, and said: “What is the meaning of this foolish resolution? Have you not to-day, like yesterday, a father and a brother? and were they different yesterday from to-day? Tell me your difficulties. Am I no longer your protectress and mother?”
Andrée, trembling, and bowing low, said, “Madame, your kindness penetrates my heart, but does not shake my resolution. I have resolved to quit the court. I have need of solitude. Do not force me to give up the vocation to which I feel called.”
“Since yesterday?”
“I beg your majesty not to make me speak on this point.”
“Be free, then,” said the queen, rather bitterly; “only I have always shown you sufficient confidence for you to have placed some in me. But it is useless to question one who will not speak. Keep your secrets, and I trust you will be happier away than you have been here. Remember one thing, however, that my friendship does not expire with people’s caprices, and that I shall ever look on you as a friend. Now, go, Andrée; you are at liberty. But where are you going to?”