“Dear Pauline!” said he, in a low but firm tone of voice, “my own Pauline! prepare yourself for what is coming! I think you will find that this concerns me. If so, farewell! and remember, whatever be my fate, that De Blenau has loved you ever faithfully, and will love you till his last hour—Beyond that—God only knows! but if ever human affection passed beyond the tomb, my love for you will endure in another state.”
By this time they had reached the steps, at the bottom of which the carriages were in waiting, and at the same moment the long strides of the Count de Thiery had brought him to the same spot.
“Well, Monsieur de Thiery!” said Anne of Austria, turning sharp round, and speaking in that shrill tone which her voice assumed whenever she was agitated either by fear or anger; “your haste implies bad news. Does your business lie with me?”
“No, so please your Majesty,” replied the old soldier; “no farther than to wish you a fair journey to Chantilly, and to have the pleasure of seeing your Majesty to your carriage.”
The Queen paused, and regarded the old man for a moment with a steady eye, while he looked down upon the ground and played with the point of his grey beard, in no very graceful embarrassment.
“Very well!” replied she at length; “you, Monsieur de Thiery, shall hand me to my carriage. So, De Blenau, I shall not need your attendance. Mount your horse and ride on.”
“Pardon me, your Majesty,” said De Thiery, stepping forward with an air of melancholy gravity, but from which all embarrassment was now banished. “Monsieur de Blenau,” he continued, “I have a most unpleasant task to accomplish: I am sorry to say you must give me up your sword; but be assured that you render it to a man of honour, who will keep it as a precious and invaluable charge, till he can give it back to that hand, which he is convinced will always use it nobly.”
“I foresaw it plainly!” cried the Queen, and turned away her head. Pauline clasped her hands and burst into tears: but amongst the attendants of De Blenau, who during this conversation had one by one mounted the steps of the terrace, there was first a whisper, then a loud murmur, then a shout of indignation, and in a moment a dozen swords were gleaming in the sunshine.
Old De Thiery laid his hand upon his weapon, but De Blenau stopped him in his purpose.
“Silence!” cried he in a voice of thunder; “Traitors, put up your swords!—My good friends,” added he, in a gentler tone, as he saw himself obeyed, “those swords, which have before so well defended their master, must never be drawn in a cause that De Blenau could blush to own. Monsieur le Comte de Thiery,” he continued, unbuckling his weapon, “I thank you for the handsome manner in which you have performed a disagreeable duty. I do not ask to see the lettre de cachet, which, of course, you bear; for in giving you the sword of an honourable man, I know I could not place it in better hands; and now, having done so, allow me to lead her Majesty to her carriage, and I will then follow you whithersoever you may have commands to bear me.”