“I can but repeat to your majesty that the court does not please me.”
“And if I ordered you to stay here?”
“I should have the grief of disobeying your majesty.”
“Oh! I know,” cried she impatiently, “you bear malice; you quarreled with a gentleman here, M. de Charny, and wounded him; and because you see him returned to-day, you are jealous, and wish to leave.”
Philippe turned pale, but replied, “Madame, I saw him sooner than you imagine, for I met him at two o’clock this morning by the baths of Apollo.”
It was now the queen’s time to grow pale, but she felt a kind of admiration for one who had retained so much courtesy and self-command in the midst of his anger and grief. “Go,” murmured she at length, in a faint voice, “I will keep you no longer.”
Philippe bowed, and left the room, while the queen sank, terrified and overwhelmed, on the sofa.
CHAPTER LXX.
THE JEALOUSY OF THE CARDINAL.
The cardinal passed three nights very different to those when he went to the park, and which he constantly lived over again in his memory. No news of any one, no hope of a visit; nothing but a dead silence, and perfect darkness, after such brightness and happiness. He began to fear that, after all, his sacrifice had been displeasing to the queen. His uneasiness became insupportable. He sent ten times in one day to Madame de la Motte: the tenth messenger brought Jeanne to him. On seeing her he cried out, “How! you live so tranquilly; you know my anxiety, and you, my friend, never come near me.”
“Oh, monseigneur, patience, I beg. I have been far more useful to you at Versailles than I could have been here.”