The Queen's Necklace by Alexandre Dumas père (best e books to read .TXT) 📕

your charming present. You are more than a happy man; you are a triumphant victor."

"Countess, it frightens me; it is too much."

Jeanne smiled.

"You come from Versailles?" continued he.

"Yes."

"You have seen her?"

"I have just left her."

"And she said nothing?"

"What do you expect that she said?"

"Oh, I am insatiable."

"Well, you had better not ask."

"You frighten me. Is anything wrong? Have I come to the height of my happiness, and is the descent to begin?"

"You are very fortunate not to have been discovered."

"Oh! with precautions, and the intelligence of two hearts and one mind----"

"That will not prevent eyes seeing through the trees."

"We have been seen?"

"I fear so."

"And recognized?"

"Oh, monseigneur, if you had been--if this secret had been known to any one, Jeanne de Valois would be out of the kingdom, and you would be dead."

"True; but tell me quickly. They have seen people walking in the park; is there any harm in that?"

"Ask the king."

"The king knows?"

"I repeat to you, if the king knew, you would be in the Bastile. But I advise you not to tempt Providence again."

"What do you mean, dear countess?"

"Do you not understand?"

"I fear to understand," he replied.

"I shall fear, if you do not promise to go no more to Versailles."

"By day?"

"Or by night."

"Impossible!"

"Why so, monseigneur?"

"Because I have in my heart a love which will end only with my life."

"So I perceive," replied she, ironically; "and it is to arrive more quickly at this result that you persist in returning to the park; for most assuredly, if you do, your love and your life will end together."

"Oh, countess, how fearful you are--you who were so brave yesterday!"

"I am always brave when there is no danger."

"But I have the bravery of my race, and am happier in the presence of danger."

"But permit me to tell you----"

"No, countess, the die is cast. Death, if it comes; but first, love. I shall return to Versailles."

"Alone, then."

"You abandon me?"

"And not I alone."

"She will come?"

"You deceive yourself; she will not come."

"Is that what you were sent to tell me?"

"It is what I have been preparing you for."

"She will see me no more?"

"Never; and it is I who have counseled it."

"Madame, do not plunge the knife into my heart!" cried he, in a doleful voice.

"It would be much more cruel, monseigneur, to let two foolish people destroy themselves for want of a little good advice."

"Countess, I would rather die."

"As regards yourself, that is easy; but, subject, you dare not dethrone your queen; man, you will not destroy a woman."

"But confess that you do not come in her name, that she does not throw me off."

"I speak in her name."

"It is only a delay she asks?"

"Take it as you wish; but obey her orders."

"The park is not the only place of meeting. There are a hundred safer spots--the queen can come to you, for instance."

"Monseigneur, not a word more. The weight of your secret is too much for me, and I believe her capable, in a fit of remorse, of confessing all to the king."

"Good God! impossible."

"If you saw her, you would pity her."

"What can I do then?"

"Insure your safety by your silence."

"But she will think I have forgotten her, and accuse me of being a coward."

"To save her."

"Can a woman forgive him who abandons her?"

"Do not judge her like others."

"I believe her great and strong. I love her for her courage and her noble heart. She may count on me, as I do on her. Once more I will see her, lay bare my heart to her; and whatever she then commands, I will sacredly obey."

Jeanne rose. "Go, then," said she, "but go alone. I have thrown the key of the park into the river. You can go to Versailles--I shall go to Switzerland or Holland. The further off I am when the shell bursts the better."

"Countess, you abandon me. With whom shall I talk of her?"

"Oh! you have the park and the echoes. You can teach them her name!"

"Countess, pity me; I am in despair."

"Well, but do not act in so childish and dangerous a manner. If you love her so much, guard her name, and if you are not totally without gratitude, do not involve in your own ruin those who have served you through friendship. Swear to me not to attempt to see or speak to her for a fortnight, and I will remain, and may yet be of service to you. But if you decide to brave all, I shall leave at once, and you must extricate yourself as you can."

"It is dreadful," murmured the cardinal; "the fall from so much happiness is overwhelming. I shall die of it."

"Suffering is always the consequence of love. Come, monseigneur, decide. Am I to remain here, or start for Lausanne?"

"Remain, countess."

"You swear to obey me."

"On the faith of a Rohan."

"Good. Well, then, I forbid interviews, but not letters."

"Really! I may write?"

"Yes."

"And she will answer."

"Try."

The cardinal kissed Jeanne's hand again, and called her his guardian angel. The demon within her must have laughed.


CHAPTER LXVIII.

THE NIGHT.

That day, at four o'clock, a man on horseback stopped in the outskirts of the park, just behind the baths of Apollo, where M. de Rohan used to wait. He got off, and looked at the places where the grass had been trodden down. "Here are the traces," thought he; "it is as I supposed. M. de Charny has returned for a fortnight, and this is where he enters the park." And he sighed. "Leave him to his happiness. God gives to one, and denies to another. But I will have proof to-night. I will hide in the bushes, and see what happens."

As for Charny, obedient to the queen's commands, he waited for orders; but it was half-past ten, and no one appeared. He waited with impatient anxiety. Then he began to think she had deceived him, and had promised what she did not mean to perform. "How could I be so foolish--I, who saw her--to be taken in by her words and promises!" At last he saw a figure approaching, wrapped in a large black mantle, and he uttered a cry of joy, for he recognized the queen. He ran to her, and fell at her feet.

"Ah, here you are, sir! it is well."

"Ah, madame! I scarcely hoped you were coming."

"Have you your sword?"

"Yes, madame."

"Where do you say those people came in?"

"By this door."

"At what time?"

"At midnight each time."

"There is no reason why they should not come again to-night. You have not spoken to any one."

"To no one."

"Come into the thick wood, and let us watch, I have not spoken of this to M. de Crosne. I have already mentioned this creature to him, and if she be not arrested, he is either incapable, or in league with my enemies. It seems incredible that any one should dare to play such tricks under my eyes, unless they were sure of impunity. Therefore, I think it is time to take the care of my reputation on myself. What do you think?"

"Oh, madame! allow me to be silent! I am ashamed of all I have said."

"At least you are an honest man," replied the queen, "and speak to the accused face to face. You do not stab in the dark."

"Oh, madame, it is eleven o'clock! I tremble."

"Look about, that no one is here."

Charny obeyed.

"No one," said he.

"Where did the scenes pass that you have described?"

"Oh, madame! I had a shock when I returned to you; for she stood just where you are at this moment."

"Here!" cried the queen, leaving the place with disgust.

"Yes, madame; under the chestnut tree."

"Then, sir, let us move, for they will most likely come here again."

He followed the queen to a different place. She, silent and proud, waited for the proof of her innocence to appear. Midnight struck. The door did not open. Half an hour passed, during which the queen asked ten times if they had always been punctual.

Three-quarters struck--the queen stamped with impatience. "They will not come," she cried; "these misfortunes only happen to me;" and she looked at Charny, ready to quarrel with him, if she saw any expression of triumph or irony: but he, as his suspicions began to return, grew so pale and looked so melancholy, that he was like the figure of a martyr.

At last she took his arm, and led him under the chestnut tree. "You say," she murmured, "that it was here you saw her?"

"Yes, madame."

"Here that she gave the rose?" And the queen, fatigued and wearied with waiting and disappointment leaned against the tree, and covered her face with her hands, but Charny could see the tears stealing through. At last she raised her head:

"Sir," said she, "I am condemned. I promised to prove to you to-day that I was calumniated; God does not permit it, and I submit. I have done what no other woman, not to say queen, would have done. What a queen! who cannot reign over one heart, who cannot obtain the esteem of one honest man. Come, sir, give me your arm, if you do not despise me too much."

"Oh, madame!" cried he, falling at her feet, "if I were only an unhappy man who loves you, could you not pardon me?"

"You!" cried she, with a bitter laugh, "you love me! and believe me infamous!"

"Oh, madame!"

"You accuse me of giving roses, kisses, and love. No, sir, no falsehoods! you do not love me."

"Madame, I saw these phantoms. Pity me, for I am on the rack."

She took his hands. "Yes, you saw, and you think it was I. Well, if here under this same tree, you at my feet, I press your hands, and say to you, 'M, de Charny, I love you, I have loved, and shall love no one else in this world, may God pardon me'--will that convince you? Will you believe me then?" As she spoke, she came so close to him that he felt her breath on his lips. "Oh!" cried Charny, "now I am ready to die."

"Give me your arm," said she, "and teach me where they went, and where she gave the rose,"--and she took from her bosom a rose and held it to him. He took it and pressed it to his heart.

"Then," continued she, "the other gave him her hand to kiss."

"Both her hands," cried Charny, pressing his burning lips passionately on hers.

"Now they visited, the baths--so will we; follow me to the place." He followed her, like a man in a strange, happy dream. They looked all round, then opened the door, and walked through. Then they came