Part 28 (1/2)
”Madame, it is time to make our confession. The Louvre is attacked, and all the populace are arriving from the city, I have been told.”
Terror silenced and rendered motionless all the persons present.
”We shall die!” exclaimed the d.u.c.h.esse de Chevreuse, still on her knees.
”Ah, my G.o.d! why did I leave England? Yes, let us confess. I confess aloud. I have loved--I have been loved by--”
”Well,” said the Queen, ”I do not undertake to hear your confession to the end. That would not perhaps be the least of my dangers, of which, however, you think little.”
The coolness of Anne of Austria, and this last severe observation, however, restored a little calm to this beautiful personage, who rose in confusion, and perceiving the disordered state of her toilet, went to repair it as she best could in a closet near by.
”Dona Stefania,” said the Queen to one of her women, the only Spaniard whom she had retained, ”go seek the captain of the guards. It is time that I should see men at last, and hear something reasonable.”
She said this in Spanish, and the mystery of this order, spoken in a tongue which the ladies did not understand, restored those in the chamber to their senses.
The waiting-woman was telling her beads, but she rose from the corner of the alcove in which she had sought refuge, and hastened to obey her mistress.
The signs of revolt and the evidences of terror became meantime more distinct. In the great court of the Louvre was heard the trampling of the horses of the guards, the orders of the chiefs, the rolling of the Queen's carriages, which were being prepared, should it be necessary to fly. The rattling of the iron chains dragged along the pavement to form barricades in case of an attack, hurried steps in the corridor, the clash of arms, the confused cries of the people, which rose and fell, went and came again, like the noise of the waves and the winds. The door once more opened, and this time it was to admit a very charming person.
”I expected you, dear Marie,” said the Queen, extending her arms to the d.u.c.h.esse de Mantua. ”You have been more courageous than any of us; you are attired fit to be seen by all the court.”
”I was not in bed, fortunately,” replied the young Princesse de Gonzaga, casting down her eyes. ”I saw all these people from the windows. O Madame, Madame, fly! I implore you to escape by the secret stairway, and let us remain in your place. They might take one of us for the Queen.”
And she added, with tears, ”I have heard cries of death. Fly, Madame! I have no throne to lose. You are the daughter, the wife, and the mother of kings. Save yourself, and leave us here!”
”You have more to lose than I, 'm'amaie', in beauty, youth, and, I hope, in happiness,” said the Queen, with a gracious smile, giving the d.u.c.h.ess her beautiful hands to kiss. ”Remain in my alcove and welcome; but we will both remain there. The only service I accept from you, my sweet child, is to bring to my bed that little golden casket which my poor Motteville has left on the ground, and which contains all that I hold most precious.”
Then, as she took it, she whispered in Marie's ear:
”Should any misfortune happen to me, swear that you will throw it into the Seine.”
”I will obey you, Madame, as my benefactress and my second mother,”
Marie answered, weeping.
The sound of the conflict redoubled on the quays, and the windows reflected the flash of the firearms, of which they heard the explosion.
The captain of the guards and the captain of the Swiss sent for orders from the Queen through Dona Stefania.
”I permit them to enter,” said the Queen. ”Stand aside, ladies. I am a man in a moment like this; and I ought to be so.” Then, raising the bed-curtains, she continued, addressing the two officers:
”Gentlemen, first remember that you answer with your heads for the life of the princes, my children. You know that, Monsieur de Guitaut?”
”I sleep across their doorway, Madame; but this disturbance does not threaten either them or your Majesty.”
”Very well; do not think of me until after them,” interrupted the Queen, ”and protect indiscriminately all who are threatened. You also hear me, Monsieur de Ba.s.sompierre; you are a gentleman. Forget that your uncle is yet in the Bastille, and do your duty by the grandsons of the dead King, his friend.”
He was a young man, with a frank, open countenance.
”Your Majesty,” said he, with a slight German accent, ”may see that I have forgotten my family, and not yours.” And he displayed his left hand despoiled of two fingers, which had just been cut off. ”I have still another hand,” said he, bowing and withdrawing with Guitaut.
The Queen, much moved, rose immediately, and, despite the prayers of the Princesse de Guemenee, the tears of Marie de Gonzaga, and the cries of Madame de Chevreuse, insisted upon placing herself at the window, and half opened it, leaning upon the shoulder of the d.u.c.h.esse de Mantua.