“You have,” replied he decidedly. “They shall not be taken from you.”
“Well, then!” said Anne of Austria, receiving the paper, “I will sign it; but I call Heaven to witness that I am innocent; and you, gentlemen of the Council, to see that I sign a paper, the contents of which I know not, and part of which is certainly false.” Thus saying, with a rapid hand she wrote her name at the bottom of the page, threw down the pen and quitted the apartment.
The Queen walked slowly, and in silence, to the apartments allotted to her use, without giving way to the various painful feelings that struggled in her bosom; but once arrived within the shelter of her own saloon, she sank into a chair, and burst into a flood of tears. Mademoiselle de Hauteford, who stood beside her, endeavoured in vain for some time to calm her agitation, but at length succeeding in a degree.
“Oh, Clara!” said the Queen, “you have ruined yourself for my sake.”
“I hope, Madam,” replied the young lady, “that I have done my duty, which were enough in itself to reconcile me to my fate; but if I could suppose that I have served your Majesty, I should be more than rewarded for any thing I may undergo.”
“You have served me most deeply on this and every occasion,” answered the Queen; “and the time may come, when the affection of Anne of Austria will not be what it is now,—the destruction of all that possess it.—But why comes Mademoiselle de Beaumont in such haste?” she continued, as Pauline, who had been absent in the gardens of the Palace, and unconscious of all that had lately passed, entered the saloon with hurry and anxiety in her countenance.
“Please your Majesty,” said Pauline, and then suddenly stopped, seeing that the Queen had been weeping. “Proceed, proceed! wild rose,” said Anne of Austria; “they are but tears—drops that signify nothing.”
“As I was walking in the gardens but now,” continued Pauline, “a little peasant boy came up to me, and asked if I could bring him to speech of your Majesty. I was surprised at his request, and asked him what was his business; when he told me that he brought you a letter from the Bastille. This seemed so important that I made bold to take him into the Palace by the private gate, and concealed him in my apartments, till I had informed you of it all.”
“You did right, Pauline, you did right,” replied the Queen. “It must surely be news from De Blenau. Bring the boy hither directly—not by the anteroom, but by the inner apartments—You, Clara, station Laporte at the top of the staircase, to see that no one approaches.”
Pauline flew to execute the Queen’s commands, and in a few minutes a clatter was heard in the inner chamber, not at all unlike the noise produced by that most unfortunate animal a cat, when some mischievous boys adorn her feet with walnut-shells.