“Madman!” cried she, “thus to accuse your queen—to dishonor thus an innocent woman! Do you believe me when I swear, by all I hold sacred, that I was not in the park on either of those days after four o’clock? Do you wish it to be proved by my women—by the king? No; he does not believe me.”
“I saw you,” replied he.
“Oh, I know!” she cried. “Did they not see me at the ball at the Opera, at Mesmer’s, scandalizing the crowd? You know it—you, who fought for me!”
“Madame, then I fought because I did not believe it; now I might fight, but I believe.”
The queen raised her arms to heaven, while burning tears rolled down her cheeks.
“My God,” she cried, “send me some thought which will save me! I do not wish this man to despise me.”
Charny, moved to the heart, hid his face in his hands.
Then, after a moment’s silence, the queen continued:
“Sir, you owe me reparation. I exact this from you. You say you have seen me three nights with a man; I have been already injured through the resemblance to me of some woman, I know not whom, but who is like her unhappy queen; but you are pleased to think it was me. Well, I will go with you into the park; and if she appears again, you will be satisfied? Perhaps we shall see her together; then, sir, you will regret the suffering you have caused me.”
Charny pressed his hands to his heart.