On the same day at noon the king entered a drawing-room, where the queen was sitting in full dress, but pale through her rouge, and surrounded by a party of ladies and gentlemen. He glanced frequently towards the door. “Are not the young couple ready? I believe it is noon,” he said.
“Sire, M. de Charny is waiting in the gallery for your majesty’s orders,” said the queen, with a violent effort.
“Oh! let him come in.” The queen turned from the door. “The bride ought to be here also,” continued the king, “it is time.”
“Your majesty must excuse Mademoiselle de Taverney, if she is late,” replied M. de Charny, advancing; “for since the death of her father she has not left her bed until to-day, and she fainted when she did so.”
“This dear child loved her father so much,” replied the king, “but we hope a good husband will console her. M. de Breteuil,” said he, turning to that gentleman, “have you made out the order of banishment for M. de Cagliostro?”
“Yes, sire.”
“And that De la Motte. Is it not to-day she is to be branded?”
At this moment, Andrée appeared, dressed in white like a bride, and with cheeks nearly as white as her dress. She advanced leaning on her brother’s arm. M. de Suffren, leading his nephew, came to meet her, and then drew back to allow her to approach the king.
“Mademoiselle,” said Louis, taking her hand, “I begged of you to hasten this marriage, instead of waiting until the time of your mourning had expired, that I might have the pleasure of assisting at the ceremony; for to-morrow I and the queen commence a tour through France.” And he led Andrée up to the queen, who could hardly stand, and did not raise her eyes. The king then, putting Andrée’s hand into Philippe’s, said, “Gentlemen, to the chapel,”—and they began to move. The queen kneeled on her prie Dieu, her face buried in her hands, praying for strength. Charny, though pale as death, feeling that all eyes were upon him, appeared calm and strong. Andrée remained immovable as a statue; she did not pray—she had nothing to ask, to hope for, or to fear. The ceremony over, the king kissed Andrée on the forehead, saying, “Madame la Comtesse, go to the queen, she wishes to give you a wedding present.”
“Oh!” murmured Andrée to Philippe, “it is too much; I can bear no more; I cannot do that.”