All this time Richelieu had listened to the Duchess in an agony of surprise and amazement. “But, madame,” said he, at length, “this is impossible. I, a dignitary of the Church, a Cardinal. Much as I desire to show my devotion to the Queen, she herself cannot expect from me so strange, so extraordinary a proof——”
“Certainly, monseigneur, it is an extreme proof of your devotion, and as such the Queen will regard it. She will be gratified, and at the same time will be thoroughly convinced of your sincerity. However, pray do as you please,” and the Duchess shrugged her shoulders; “I merely mention her Majesty’s wishes; you are quite at liberty to refuse. I shall therefore,” and she rose, “report your refusal.”
“Stop, Duchess, stop, I entreat you!” interrupted Richelieu, “you are so precipitate! I will—I must! (But what a fearful degradation! I, the prime minister of France, a prince of the Church, to appear in the disguise of a mountebank!) Ah, madame, her Majesty is too hard on me; but I adore, I worship her too much to refuse. Yes,—her wishes are my law; I cannot, I dare not refuse. Tell the Queen, at twilight this evening, I will present myself in her apartments.”
The Duchess waited no longer, but flew to acquaint the Queen with her success. Neither could for a long time articulate a single syllable, they were so overcome with laughter. Music was introduced behind the arras, for the Cardinal was to be prevailed on to dance a sarabande. Then they impatiently awaited the moment of his arrival. At last, enveloped in a Spanish cloak that entirely concealed his dress, the Cardinal entered. He was hastily rushing towards the Queen—Heaven only knows with what intentions—when Madame de Chevreuse interposed:
“Not yet, Cardinal—not yet; you must show us your dress first, then you must dance a sarabande, a bolero—something. Her Majesty has heard of your accomplishments and insists on it.”
“Yes,” cried Anne of Austria, “I insist on it, monseigneur, and have provided the music accordingly.”
The violins now struck up. Richelieu looked confounded. He was almost on the point of rushing out, when a few words whispered to him by the Duchess arrested him; they acted like a charm. Casting one deep, impassioned glance at the Queen, who sat at a little distance reposing on a couch, ravishing in beauty, her rosy lips swelling with ill-suppressed scorn, he threw down his cloak, displaying his extraordinary dress, bells, scarlet scarf and all, and began to dance—yes, to dance!
Poor man! he was no longer young, and was stiff from want of practice; so after a few clumsy entrechats and pirouettes, he stopped. He was quite red in the face and out of breath. He looked horribly savage for a few moments. The music stopped also, and there was a pause. Then he advanced towards the Queen, the little bells tinkling as he moved.
“Your Majesty must now be convinced of my devotion. Deign, most adorable Princess, to permit me to kiss that exquisite hand.”