CHAPTER LXXXII.
A DEAD HEART.
“Andrée,” continued the queen, “it looks strange to see you in this dress; to see an old friend and companion already lost to life, is like a warning to ourselves from the tomb.”
“Madame, no one has a right to warn or counsel your majesty.”
“That was never my wish,” said the queen; “tell me truly, Andrée, had you to complain of me when you were at court?”
“Your majesty was good enough to ask me that question when I took leave, and I replied then as now, no, madame.”
“But often,” said the queen, “a grief hurts us which is not personal; have I injured any one belonging to you? Andrée, the retreat which you have chosen is an asylum against evil passions; here God teaches gentleness, moderation and forgiveness of injuries. I come as a friend, and ask you to receive me as such.”
Andrée felt touched. “Your majesty knows,” said she, “that the Taverneys cannot be your enemies.”
“I understand,” replied the queen; “you cannot pardon me for having been cold to your brother, and, perhaps, he himself accuses me of caprice.”
“My brother is too respectful a subject to accuse the queen,” said Andrée, coldly.
The queen saw that it was useless to try and propitiate Andrée on this subject; so she said only, “Well, at least, I am ever your friend.”