The birds sing in the bushes, the bees buzz among the blossoms, and the horses’ hoofs crush the tender mosses and the early flowers that carpet the ground. At the approach of the hunters hares and rabbits run lightly away, and timid does, with their young at their side, scamper far into the deepest recesses of the woods. Now the bugles sound, the dogs bay loudly; they spread themselves from side to side and disappear among the coppice, and the whole glittering company, gilded coaches, litters and all follow them, and dash out of sight and are hidden among the trees.
It was arranged that the hunt should lead towards a noble mansion lying on the confines of the forest, in the direction of Bondy, where the host, apprized of the intended honour, had prepared an ample collation.
Etiquette demanded that the King and Queen should be served apart from the rest. After their repast was finished and their attendants had withdrawn, the Queen approached nearer to the King. He started up and turned towards the door. Anne followed him. The long ride in the forest had flushed her cheeks. She looked brilliant. “Your Majesty will not refuse to speak to me, surely,” said she in the softest tones of her naturally sweet voice, and she raised her glorious eyes, which would have melted any other man but Louis, beseechingly.
The King shook his head sullenly.
“What have I done that your Majesty should scorn me?” said she, stretching out her beautiful hand with the most winning gesture to detain him.
Louis shrank from her touch, and turned his back upon her.
“Sire, will you not at least hear me, as you would hear the least of your subjects?” and the Queen’s eyes filled with tears and her hand dropped to her side.
“What have you to say to me?” asked Louis harshly, not looking at her.
“When I last saw your Majesty at Compiègne,” replied she with a faltering voice, “your mother, the Queen-dowager”—at her name Louis shuddered—“was mistress of the palace and of France. She sat at the royal board; she presided at the Council of State; your Majesty obeyed and loved her as a son. She is now a prisoner—disgraced, forsaken, ill.” The Queen’s voice became so unsteady that she was obliged to stop, and unbidden tears rolled down her cheeks. “What has this great Queen done to deserve your Majesty’s displeasure?” she added after a pause.
“Madame, it is no affair of yours,” answered Louis gruffly. “I refuse to give you my reasons. I act according to the advice of my council. Do not detain me,” and he turned again to leave the room. Anne placed herself in front of him; her head was thrown back, her figure raised to its full height, the tears on her eyelids were dried; she was no longer timid, but exasperated.