The queen rose. “Sir,” said she, “it is very early in the morning for me to think you intoxicated, but I can find no other solution for this conduct.”
Charny, unmoved, continued, “After all, what is a queen?—a woman. And am I not a man as well as a subject?”
“Monsieur!”
“Madame, anger is out of place now. I believe I have formerly proved that I had respect for your royal dignity. I fear I proved that I had an insane love for yourself. Choose, therefore, to whom I shall speak. Is it to the queen, or the woman, that I shall address my accusation of dishonor and shame?”
“Monsieur de Charny,” cried the queen, growing pale, “if you do not leave this room, I must have you turned out by my guards!”
“But I will tell you first,” cried he, passionately, “why I call you an unworthy queen and woman! I have been in the park these three nights!”
Instead of seeing her tremble, as he believed she would on hearing these words, the queen rose, and, approaching him, said, “M. de Charny, your state excites my pity. Your hands tremble, you grow pale; you are suffering. Shall I call for help?”
“I saw you!” cried he again; “saw you with that man to whom you gave the rose! saw you when he kissed your hands! saw you when you entered the baths of Apollo with him!”
The queen passed her hands over her eyes, as if to make sure that she was not dreaming.
“Sit down,” said she, “or you will fall.”