“True,” replied Marie Antoinette, “if you did not write it, it is a crime; but to prove this I must confront you with the person whom I charged to return you the jewels.”
“Whenever your majesty pleases; we do not fear the test.”
“Go first to M. de Rohan; he alone can enlighten you.”
“And will your majesty permit us to bring you his answer?”
“Yes; but I dare say I shall know all before you do.”
When they were gone she was restless and unquiet, and despatched courier after courier for Madame de la Motte.
We will, however, leave her for the present, and follow the jewelers in their search after the truth.
The cardinal was at home, reading, with a rage impossible to describe, a little note which Madame de la Motte had just sent him, as she said, from Versailles. It was harsh, forbidding any hope, ordering him to think no more of the past, not to appear again at Versailles, and ending with an appeal to his loyalty not to attempt to renew relations which were become impossible.
“Coquette, capricious, perfidious!” cried he. “Here are four letters which she has written to me, each more unjust and tyrannical than the other. She encouraged me only for a caprice, and now sacrifices me to a new one.”
It was at this moment that the jewelers presented themselves. Three times he refused them admittance, and each time the servant came back, saying that they would not go without an audience. “Let them come in, then,” said he.