Part 170 (1/2)

For an instant Marguerite seemed to try to summon her courage, then suddenly she gave way and fell back among the cus.h.i.+ons.

”No, no, I cannot go,” said she.

Charles took her hand and seating himself on the divan said:

”You have just lost a friend, I know, Margot; but look at me. Have I not lost all my friends, even my mother? You can always weep when you wish to; but I, at the moment of my greatest sorrows, am always forced to smile. You suffer; but look at me! I am dying. Come, Margot, courage! I ask it of you, sister, in the name of our honor! We bear like a cross of agony the reputation of our house; let us bear it, sister, as the Saviour bore his cross to Calvary; and if on the way we stagger, as he did, let us like him rise brave and resigned.”

”Oh, my G.o.d! my G.o.d!” cried Marguerite.

”Yes,” said Charles, answering her thought; ”the sacrifice is severe, sister, but each one has his own burden, some of honor, others of life.

Do you suppose that with my twenty-five years, and the most beautiful throne in the world, I do not regret dying? Look at me! My eyes, my complexion, my lips are those of a dying man, it is true; but my smile, does not my smile imply that I still hope? and in a week, a month at the most, you will be weeping for me, sister, as you now weep for him who died to-day.”

”Brother!” exclaimed Marguerite, throwing her arms about Charles's neck.

”So dress yourself, dear Marguerite,” said the King, ”hide your pallor and come to the ball. I have given orders for new jewels to be brought to you, and ornaments worthy of your beauty.”

”Oh! what are diamonds and dresses to me now?” said Marguerite.

”Life is long, Marguerite,” said Charles, smiling, ”at least for you.”

The pages withdrew; Gillonne alone remained.

”Prepare everything that is necessary for me, Gillonne,” said Marguerite.

”Sister, remember one thing: sometimes it is by stifling or rather by dissimulating our suffering that we show most honor to the dead.”

”Well, sire,” said Marguerite, shuddering, ”I will go to the ball.”

A tear, which soon dried on his parched eyelid, moistened Charles's eye.

He leaned over his sister, kissed her forehead, paused an instant before Henriette, who had neither seen nor heard him, and murmured:

”Poor woman!”

Then he went out silently.

Soon after several pages entered, bringing boxes and jewel-caskets.

Marguerite made a sign for them to set everything down.

Gillonne looked at her mistress in astonishment.

”Yes,” said Marguerite, in a tone the bitterness of which it is impossible to describe; yes, I will dress and go to the ball; I am expected. Make haste; the day will then be complete. A fete on the Greve in the morning, a fete in the Louvre in the evening.”

”And the d.u.c.h.ess?” said Gillonne.

”She is quite happy. She may remain here; she can weep; she can suffer at her ease. She is not the daughter of a king, the wife of a king, the sister of a king. She is not a queen. Help me to dress, Gillonne.”

The young girl obeyed. The jewels were magnificent, the dress gorgeous.