“It is well, madame,” said Mazarin; “nothing can gainsay such testimony.”
“Sir,” replied the queen, closing the coffer and leaning her hand upon it, “if there is anything to be said, it is that I have always been ungrateful to the brave men who saved me—that I have given nothing to that gallant officer, D’Artagnan, you were speaking of just now, but my hand to kiss and this diamond.”
As she spoke she extended her beautiful hand to the cardinal and showed him a superb diamond which sparkled on her finger.
“It appears,” she resumed, “that he sold it—-he sold it in order to save me another time—to be able to send a messenger to the duke to warn him of his danger—he sold it to Monsieur des Essarts, on whose finger I remarked it. I bought it from him, but it belongs to D’Artagnan. Give it back to him, sir, and since you have such a man in your service, make him useful.”
“Thank you, madame,” said Mazarin. “I will profit by the advice.”
“And now,” added the queen, her voice broken by her emotion, “have you any other question to ask me?”
“Nothing,”—the cardinal spoke in his most conciliatory manner—“except to beg of you to forgive my unworthy suspicions. I love you so tenderly that I cannot help being jealous, even of the past.”
A smile, which was indefinable, passed over the lips of the queen.
“Since you have no further interrogations to make, leave me, I beseech you,” she said. “I wish, after such a scene, to be alone.”
Mazarin bent low before her.