“The King at Tarascon!” exclaimed Anne of Austria. “In the name of Heaven, what does he at Tarascon?”
“That is beyond my knowledge,” answered the Officer. “All I can tell your Majesty is, that for the last week there has been strange flying of couriers from one place to another. Monsieur de Chavigni has almost killed himself with riding between Tarascon and Narbonne. Every thing is altered, evidently, but no one knows how or why; and just as Aleron, Monsieur de Brezé’s maitre d’hotel, was about to give me the whole history, I received an order to set off for Paris instantly, and when I arrived there, to take twenty troopers from the caserne, and come on hither on the errand which I have the honour to perform.”
“But did you hear nothing?” demanded the Queen, earnestly. “Did this Aleron tell you nothing?”
“Nothing, Madame,” replied the Officer. “He had just made me promise inviolable secrecy, and we were interrupted before he began his tale; or I would have told your Majesty with pleasure.”
“But from report?” said the Queen. “Did you gain no knowledge from rumour?”
“Oh, there were rumours enough, truly,” answered the man; “but as fast as one came, it was contradicted by another. Some said that the troops at Perpignan had revolted, and some that Monsieur le Grand had killed Cardinal Mazarin. Others brought word that Monsieur de Noyers had tried to poison the King; and others, that the King had kicked Fontrailles for hunting in short boots.”
“Nonsense!” said the Queen; “all nonsense.—It is unfortunate,” she continued, musing, “that we can get no information. But tell me, where are you ordered to conduct Monsieur de Blenau?—To the Bastille?”
At the name of a place where both De Blenau and herself had suffered so much, and which was associated in her mind with every horrible idea, Pauline clasped her hands over her eyes, as if to shut out the frightful visions it recalled.
“No, Madame,” replied the Officer, “I am commanded to conduct Monsieur de Blenau, as quickly as possible, to Tarascon; and allow me to remind your Majesty that the time is passing fast.”
De Blenau made a sign to the Officer, indicating that he was ready. He saw that Pauline’s hands still covered her eyes, and, wishing to spare her the pain of such a parting, he bowed profoundly to the Queen, and moved in silence to the door. The Queen and Madame de Beaumont saw his intention, and remained silent; but as he reached the door, he could not resist the desire to turn and look once more upon her whom he was leaving perhaps for ever—who had so nearly been his bride—whom he had loved so long—who had undergone so much for him. It was excusable, but the delay defeated his purpose. The sudden silence alarmed Pauline—she raised her eyes—she saw De Blenau in the act of departing, and the last fixed painful glance with which he regarded her. All but her love was that moment forgotten; and starting wildly forward, she threw herself into his arms, and wept bitterly on his bosom. But Madame de Beaumont advancing, gently disengaged her from his embrace: Pauline hid her eyes upon her mother’s shoulder; and De Blenau, with a heart ready to break, fled quickly from a scene that his fortitude could support no longer.