Part 9 (1/2)

”Yes, sire, I confess it,” answered the cardinal, with a low voice, which seemed to contradict what he uttered.

”He confesses it,” cried the queen, gnas.h.i.+ng her teeth, and making up her little hand into a clinched fist. ”He has held me fit for such infamy--me, his queen!”

”You a.s.sert that you bought the jewels for the queen. Did you deliver them in person?”

”No, sire, the Countess Lamotte did that.”

”In your name, cardinal?”

”Yes, in my name, sire, and she gave at the same time a receipt to the queen for one hundred and fifty thousand francs, which I lent the queen toward the purchase.”

”And what reward did you have from the queen?”

The cardinal hesitated; then, as he felt the angry, cold, and contemning look of the queen resting upon him, the red blood mounted into his face, and with a withering glance at Marie Antoinette, he said:

”You wish, madame, that I should speak the whole truth! Sire, the queen rewarded me for this little work of love in a manner worthy of a queen. She granted me an appointment in the park of Versailles.”

At this new and fearful charge, the queen cried aloud, and, springing forward like a tigress, she seized the arm of her husband and shook it.

”Sire,” said she, ”listen to this high traitor, bringing infamy upon a queen! Will you bear it? Can his purple protect the villain?”

”No, it cannot, and it shall not!” cried the king. ”Breteuil, do your duty. And you, cardinal, who venture to accuse your queen, to scandalize the good name of the wife of your king, go.”

”Sire,” stammered the cardinal, ”sire, I--”

”Not a word,” interrupted the king, raising his hand and pointing toward the door, ”out, I say, out with you!”

The cardinal staggered to the door, and entered the hall filled with a glittering throng, who were still whispering, laughing, and walking to and fro.

But hardly had he advanced a few steps, when behind him, upon the threshold of the royal cabinet, appeared the minister Breteuil.

”Lieutenant,” cried Breteuil, with a loud voice, turning to the officer in command of the guard, ”lieutenant, in the name of the king, arrest the Cardinal de Rohan, and take him under escort to the Bastile.”

A general cry of horror followed these words, which rolled like a cras.h.i.+ng thunder-clap through the careless, coquetting, and unsuspecting company. Then followed a breathless silence.

All eyes were directed to the cardinal, who, pale as death, and yet maintaining his n.o.ble carriage, walked along at ease.

At this point a young officer, pale like the cardinal, like all in fact, approached the great ecclesiastic, and gently took his arm.

”Cardinal,” said he, with sorrowful tone, ”in the name of the king, I arrest your eminence. I am ordered, monseigneur, to conduct you to the Bastile.”

”Come, then, my son,” answered the cardinal, quickly, making his way slowly through the throng, which respectfully opened to let him pa.s.s--” come, since the king commands it, let us go to the Bastile.”

He pa.s.sed on to the door. But when the officer had opened it, he turned round once more to the hall. Standing erect, with all the exalted dignity of his station and his person, he gave the amazed company his blessing.

Then the door closed behind him, and with pale faces the lords and ladies of the court dispersed to convey the horrible tidings to Versailles and Paris, that the king had caused the cardinal, the grand almoner of France, to be arrested in his official robes, and that it was the will of the queen.

And the farther the tidings rolled the more the report enlarged, like an avalanche of calumnies.