The Queen's Necklace. Dumas Alexandre
what effect did our French produce out there?"
"As much good as the English did harm."
"Ah, you are a partisan of the new ideas, my dear M. Philippe de Taverney; but have you reflected on one thing?"
"What, monseigneur? I assure you that out there, encamped in the fields, and in the savannahs on the borders of the great lakes, I had plenty of time for reflection."
"On this, that in making war out there, it was neither on the Indians nor on the English, but on us."
"Ah, monseigneur, I do not deny that that is possible."
"Therefore I do not admire so much these victories of M. de la Fayette and Washington. It is egotism, perhaps, but it is not egotism for myself alone."
"Oh, monseigneur!"
"But do you know why I will still support you with all my power?"
"Whatever be the reason, I shall be truly grateful."
"It is, because you are not one of those whose names have been blazoned forth. You have done your duty bravely, but you have not thrust yourself forward; you are not known in Paris."
The young prince then kissed the queen's hand, and bowing to Andrée, left the room.
Then the queen turned again to Philippe, saying, "Have you seen your father, sir?"
"No, madame."
"Why did you not go to see him first?"
"I had sent home my valet, and my luggage, but my father sent the servant back again, with orders to present myself first to you, or the king."
"It is a lovely morning," said the queen; "to-morrow the ice will begin to melt. Madame de Misery, order my sledge and send my chocolate in here."
"Will not your majesty take something to eat? You had no supper last night."
"You mistake, my good Misery, we had supper. Had we not, Andrée?"
"A very good one, madame."
"So I will only have my chocolate. Quick, Madame de Misery; this fine weather tempts me, and the Swiss lake will be full of company."
"Your majesty is going to skate?" asked Philippe.
"Ah, you will laugh at us, M. l'Américain; you, who have traversed lakes where there are more miles than we have feet here."
"Madame," replied Philippe, "here you amuse yourself with the cold, but there they die of it."
"Ah, here is my chocolate; Andrée, take a cup with me."
Andrée bowed, coloring with pleasure.
"You see, M. de Taverney, I am always the same, hating all etiquette, as in old times. Do you remember those old days? Are you changed since then, M. Philippe?"
"No, madame," replied the young man, "I am not changed – at least, not in heart."
"Well, I am glad to hear that, for it was a good one. A cup for M. de Taverney, Madame de Misery."
"Oh, madame!" cried Philippe, "you cannot mean it; such an honor for a poor obscure soldier like me."
"An old friend," said the queen; "this day seems to remind me of my youth; I seem again happy, free, proud and yet foolish. This day recalls to me that happy time at my dear Trianon, and all our frolics there, Andrée and I together. This day brings back to my memory my roses, my strawberries, and my birds, that I was so fond of, all, even to my good gardeners, whose happy faces often announced to me a new flower or a delicious fruit; and M. de Jussieu and that original old Rousseau, who is since dead. But come," continued she, herself pouring the chocolate into his cup, "you are a soldier, and accustomed to fire, so burn yourself gloriously with this chocolate, for I am in a hurry."
She laughed, but Philippe, taking it seriously, drank it off most heroically.
The queen saw him, and laughing still more, said, "You are indeed a perfect hero, M. de Taverney." She then rose, and her woman brought her bonnet, ermine mantle, and gloves.
Philippe took his hat under his arm, and followed her and Andrée out.
"M. de Taverney, I do not mean you to leave me," said the queen. "Come round to my right."
They went down the great staircase; the drums were beating, the clarions of the body-guard were playing, and this whole scene, and the enthusiasm everywhere shown towards that beautiful queen by whose side he was walking, completed the intoxication of the young man. The change was too sudden, after so many years of exile and regret, to such great joy and honor.
CHAPTER IX.
THE SWISS LAKE
Every one knows this piece of water, which still goes by the same name. An avenue of linden trees skirts each bank, and these avenues were on this day thronged with pedestrians, of all ranks and ages, who had come to enjoy the sight of the sledges and the skating. The toilets of the ladies presented a brilliant spectacle of luxury and gaiety, their high coiffures, gay bonnets with the veils half down, fur mantles, and brilliant silks with deep flounces, were mingled with the orange or blue coats of the gentlemen.
Gay lackeys also, in blue and red, passed among the crowd, looking like poppies and cornflowers blown about by the wind.
Now and then a cry of admiration burst from the crowd, as St. George, the celebrated skater, executed some circle so perfect, that a mathematician could scarcely have found a fault in it.
While the banks of the lake were thus crowded, the ice itself presented a scene not less gay, and still more animated: sledges flew about in all directions. Several dogs, clothed in embroidered velvet, and with plumes of feathers on their heads, looking like fabulous animals, drew a sledge in which sat M. de Lauzun, who was wrapped up in a tiger skin. Here you might see a lady masked, doubtless on account of the cold, in some sledge of a quieter character, while a handsome skater, in a velvet riding-coat, hangs over the back, to assist and direct her progress; whatever they may be saying to each other is quite inaudible, amidst this busy hum of voices; but who can blame a rendezvous which takes place in the open air, and under the eyes of all Versailles? and whatever they may be saying matters to no one else: it is evident that in the midst of this crowd their life is an isolated one; they think only of each other.
All at once a general movement in the crowd announces that they have recognized the queen, who is approaching the lake. A general cry of "Vive la reine!" is heard, and all endeavor to approach as nearly as possible to the place where she has stationed herself. One person alone does not appear to share this feeling, for on her approach he disappears with all his suite as fast as possible in the opposite direction.
"Do you see," said the Comte d'Artois to the queen, whom he had hastened to join, "how my brother Provence flies from you?"
"He fears that I should reproach him."
"Oh, no; it is not that that makes him fly."
"It is his conscience, then."
"Not even that, sister."
"What then?"
"I will tell you. He had just heard that M. de Suffren, our glorious commander, will arrive this evening; and as the news is important, he wishes to leave you in ignorance of it."
"But is the Minister of Marine ignorant of this arrival?"
"Ah, mon Dieu, sister, have you not learned enough of ministers, during the fourteen years you have passed here, as dauphiness and queen, to know that they are always ignorant of precisely what they ought to know? However, I have told him about this, and he is deeply grateful."
"I should think so," said the queen.
"Yes, and I have need of his gratitude, for I want a loan."
"Oh," cried the queen, laughing, "how disinterested you are."
"Sister," said he, "you must want money; I offer you half of what I am going to receive."
"Oh no, brother, keep it for yourself; I thank you, but I want nothing just now."
"Diable! do not wait too long to claim my promise,