The queen and Charny exchanged a look so full of terror, that their most cruel enemy must have pitied them.
Charny rose slowly, and bowed to the king, whose heart might almost have been seen to beat.
“Ah!” cried he, in a hoarse voice, “M. de Charny!”
The queen could not speak—she thought she was lost.
“M. de Charny,” repeated the king, “it is little honorable for a gentleman to be taken in the act of theft.”
“Of theft?” murmured Charny.
“Yes, sir, to kneel before the wife of another is a theft; and when this woman is a queen, his crime is called high treason!”
The count was about to speak, but the queen, ever impatient in her generosity, forestalled him.
“Sire,” said she, “you seem in the mood for evil suspicions and unfavorable suppositions, which fall falsely, I warn you; and if respect chains the count’s tongue, I will not hear him wrongfully accused without defending him.” Here she stopped, overcome by emotion, frightened at the falsehood she was about to tell, and bewildered because she could not find one to utter.
But these few words had somewhat softened the king, who replied more gently, “You will not tell me, madame, that I did not see M. de Charny kneeling before you, and without your attempting to raise him?”