Anne of Austria turned to Madame de Beaumont with a look of melancholy foreboding. “More, more, more still to endure,” she said: and then added, addressing the officer, “His Majesty’s commands shall be instantly obeyed; so inform him, Sir.—De Beaumont, tell Mademoiselle de Hauteford that I shall be glad of her assistance too. You will go with me, of course.”
Mademoiselle de Hauteford instantly came at the Queen’s command, and approaching her with a sweet and placid smile, said a few words of comfort to her Royal mistress in so kind and gentle a manner, that the tears rose in the eyes of Anne of Austria.
“De Hauteford!” said she, “I feel a presentiment that we shall soon part, and therefore I speak to you now of what I never spoke before. I know how much I have to thank you for—I know how much you have rejected for my sake—The love of a King would have found few to refuse it. You have done so for my sake, and you will have your reward.”
The eloquent blood spread suddenly over the beautiful countenance of the lady of honour. “Spare me, spare me, your Majesty,” cried she, kissing the hand the Queen held out to her. “I thought that secret had been hidden in my bosom alone. But oh let me hope that, even had it not been for my love for your Majesty, I could still have resisted. Yes! yes!” continued she, clasping her hands, and murmuring to herself the name of a higher and holier King, “yes! yes! I could have resisted!”
The unusual energy with which the beautiful girl spoke, on all ordinary occasions so calm and imperturbable, showed the Queen how deeply her heart had taken part in that to which she alluded; and perhaps female curiosity might have led her to prolong the theme, though a painful one to both parties, had not the summons of the King required her immediate attention.
As they approached the council-chamber, Madame de Beaumont observed that the Queen’s steps wavered.
“Take courage, Madam,” said she. “For Heaven’s sake, call up spirit to carry you through, whatever may occur.”
“Fear not, De Beaumont,” replied the Queen, though her tone betrayed the apprehension she felt. “They shall see that they cannot frighten me.”
At that moment the Huissier threw open the door of the council-chamber, and the Queen with her ladies entered, and found themselves in the presence of the King and all his principal ministers. In the centre of the room, strewed with various papers and materials for writing, stood a long table, at the top of which, in a seat slightly raised above the rest, sat Louis himself, dressed, as was usual with him, in a suit of black silk, without any ornament whatever, except three rows of sugar-loaf buttons of polished jet,—if these could be considered as ornamental. His hat, indeed, which he continued to wear, was looped up with a small string of jewels; and the feather, which fell much on one side, was buttoned with a diamond of some value; but these were the only indications by which his apparel could have been distinguished from that of some poor avoué, or greffier de la cour.
On the right hand of the King was placed the Cardinal de Richelieu, in his robes; and on the left, was the Chancellor Seguier. Bouthilliers, Chavigni, Mazarin, and other members of the council, filled the rest of the seats round the table; but at the farther end was a vacant space, in front of which the Queen now presented herself, facing the chair of the King.