“What are these, Sully?” he says, looking grave. “Bills for the entertainment given by the Duchesse de Beaufort for the baptism of my second son, Alexandria, son of France, eight thousand francs! Impossible! Baptismal fees for a son of France? There is no son of France. I wish to God there were! What does all this mean, Sully?”
“It means, Sire, that if you sign that paper, I shall leave the Court.”
“Come, come, my good Rosny, you forget that the Duchess is present”; and he glances at Gabrielle, who lay back on the arm-chair, weeping bitterly.
“No, Sire; I mean what I say. My advice is disregarded; I am superseded by a council of women”; and he turns fiercely towards the Duchesse. “The nation groans under heavy taxes. Complaints reach me from every quarter. What am I to do, if the revenues are squandered like this?”
Gabrielle’s sobs had now become audible. Henry, still holding the paper, looks greatly perplexed.
“The amount is certainly enormous. Some enemy of her grace must have done this. Tell me, Gabrielle, you cannot have sanctioned it? There are no ‘sons of France.’ Say to me, Gabrielle, that you were ignorant of all this.”
Gabrielle neither speaks nor moves, save that she shakes with sobs. Sully gazes at her with a cynical air as of a man who would not be deceived.
“You see, Rosny,” whispers the King into his ear, “that she does not govern me, much as I love her. You do me wrong to say so.” Sully shrugged his shoulders. “No, she shall not control you, who only live for my service. I must make her feel that I am displeased. Speak, Gabrielle,” he continues aloud, in a voice which he endeavours to make severe, “speak.” Receiving no answer he turns away with affected unconcern. Yet in spite of his words, he glances over his shoulder to watch her. Had Sully not been present, he would have flown to her on the spot and yielded. This Sully well knew; so he did not stir.
There is an awkward pause. Horrible suspicions rush into Gabrielle’s mind. That strange story of the ferryman and the taxes; Sully’s audacious language; the King’s coldness: it could only mean one thing, and as this conviction comes over her, her heart dies within her.
“Sire,” she answers at last, suppressing her sobs as she best could and approaching where Henry stood, affecting not to notice her, “I see that you have permitted the Duc de Sully to come here in order to insult me. You want to abandon me, Sire. Say so frankly; it is more worthy of you. But remember that I am not here by my own wish, save for the love I bear you.” As she utters these words her voice nearly failed her; but by a strong effort she continues, “No one can feel more forlorn than I do. Your Majesty has promised me marriage against the advice of your ministers. This scene is arranged between you to justify you in breaking your sacred word, else you could never allow the lady whom you design for so high an honour to be thus treated in your very presence.”