He approached quickly, but respectfully. “Your majesty,” cried he, in a moved voice, “shows me my duty. It is here that danger awaits you, here that you are to be judged, and, that you may have one loyal witness on your side, I remain here. Perhaps we may still make your enemies tremble before the majesty of an innocent queen, and the courage of a devoted man. And if you wish it, madame, I will be equally hidden and unseen as though I went. During a fortnight that I lived within a hundred yards of you, watching your every movement, counting your steps, living in your life, no one saw me; I can do so again, if it please you.”
“As you please,” replied she; “I am no coquette, M. de Charny, and to say what I please is the true privilege of a queen. One day, sir, I chose you from every one. I do not know what drew my heart towards you, but I had need of a strong and pure friendship, and I allowed you to perceive that need; but now I see that your soul does not respond to mine, and I tell you so frankly.”
“Oh, madame,” cried Charny, “I cannot let you take away your heart from me! If you have once given it to me, I will keep it with my life; I cannot lose you. You reproached me with my doubts—oh, do not doubt me!”
“Ah,” said she, “but you are weak, and I, alas, am so also.”
“You are all I love you to be.”
“What!” cried she, passionately, “this abused queen, this woman about to be publicly judged, that the world condemns, and that her king and husband may, perhaps, also in turn condemn, has she found one heart to love her?”
“A slave, who venerates her, and offers her his heart’s blood in exchange for every pang he has caused her!”
“Then,” cried she, “this woman is blessed and happy, and complains of nothing!”
Charny fell at her feet, and kissed her hands in transport. At that moment the door opened, and the king surprised, at the feet of his wife, the man whom he had just heard accused by the Comte de Provence.