Profiting by the coldness lately introduced into his relations with the Queen, he went to her rooms with the intention of leaving a note to tell of his departure when he found Weber awaiting him.
The Queen wished to see him forthwith, and there is no eluding the wishes of crowned heads in their palace.
Marie Antoinette was in the opposite mood to her visitor’s, she was recalling her harshness towards him and his devotion at Versailles; at the sight of the count’s brother laid dead across her threshold she had felt a kind of remorse; she confessed to herself that had this been the count she would have badly paid him for the sacrifice.
But had she any right to expect aught else than devotion of Charny?
She admitted that she was stern and unfair towards him, when the door opened and the gentleman appeared in the irreproachable costume of the military officer on duty.
But there was in his deeply respectful bearing something chilly which repelled the magnetic flow from the Queen’s heart, to go and seek in his the tender, sweet and sad memories collected during four years.
The Queen looked round her as though to try to ascertain why he remained on the sill, and when assured it was a matter of his will, she said:
“Come, my lord: we are alone.”
“I see that, but I do not see what in that fact should alter the bearing of a subject to his sovereign.”
“When I sent Weber for you I thought that fond friends were going to speak with one another.”