CHAPTER VI.
LAURENT
At this moment our heroines heard the clock strike from the church of St. Louis.
"Oh, mon Dieu! a quarter to twelve," they cried, in terror.
"See, all the doors are shut," said Andrée.
"Oh, that is nothing; for, if they were open, we would not go in here. Let us go round by the reservoirs." And they turned to the right, where there was a private entrance.
When they arrived there, "The door is shut, Andrée," said the elder lady, rather uneasily.
"Let us knock, madame."
"No, we will call; Laurent must be waiting for me, for I told him perhaps I should return late."
"I will call," said Andrée, approaching the door.
"Who is there?" said a voice from inside.
"Oh, it is not Laurent!" said she, terrified.
"Is it not?" and the other lady advanced, and called softly, "Laurent."
No answer.
"Laurent?" again she called, louder.
"There is no Laurent here," replied the voice, rudely.
"But," said Andrée, "whether he be here or not, open the door."
"I cannot open it."
"But Laurent would have opened it immediately."
"I have my orders," was all the reply.
"Who are you, then?"
"Rather, who are you?"
Rude as the question was, it was no time to find fault, so they answered, "We are ladies of her majesty's suite, we lodge in the castle, and we wish to get home."
"Well, I, mesdames, am a Suisse of the Salischamade company, and I shall do just the contrary of Laurent, for I shall leave you at the door."
"Oh!" murmured the ladies, in terror and anger.
Then, making an effort over herself, the elder lady said, "My friend, I understand that you are obeying orders, and I do not quarrel with you for that – it is a soldier's duty; only do me the favor to call Laurent – he cannot be far distant."
"I cannot quit my post."
"Then send some one."
"I have no one to send."
"For pity's sake!"
"Oh, mon Dieu, sleep in the town, that is no great thing; if I were shut out of the barracks, I would soon find a bed."
"Listen," said the lady again; "you shall have twenty louis, if you open this door."
"And twelve years at the galleys: no, thank you. Forty-eight francs a year is not sufficient pay for that."
"I will get you made a sergeant."
"Yes, and he who gave me the order will have me shot."
"And who did give you the order?"
"The king."
"The king!" cried they; "oh, we are lost!"
"Is there no other door?"
"Oh! madame, if this one is closed, be sure all the others will be so also," said Andrée.
"You are right, Andrée. 'Tis a horrible trick of the king," she said, with a contempt almost menacing.
There was a sort of bank outside the door, which they sank down upon in despair. They could see the light under the door, and could hear the steps of the sentinel as he paced to and fro.
Within this little door was salvation; without, shame and scandal.
"Oh! to-morrow, to-morrow, when they will find out," murmured the elder lady.
"You will tell the truth, madame."
"But shall I be believed?"
"Oh! we can prove it; besides, the soldier will not stay all night; he will be relieved, and perhaps his successor will be more complacent."
"Yes, but the patrol will pass directly, and will find me here, waiting outside. It is infamous; I am suffocated with rage."
"Oh, take courage, madame! you, who are always so brave."
"It is a plot, Andrée, in order to ruin me. This door is never closed. Oh, I shall die!"
At this moment they heard a step approaching, and then the voice of a young man, singing gaily as he went along.
"That voice," cried the lady, "I know it, I am sure."
"Oh, yes, madame, he will save us."
A young man, wrapped up in a fur riding-coat, came quickly up, and without noticing them, knocked at the door, and called, "Laurent."
"Brother," said the elder lady, touching him on the shoulder.
"The queen," cried he, taking off his hat.
"Hush," said she.
"You are not alone?"
"No, I am with Mademoiselle Andrée de Taverney."
"Oh, good evening, mademoiselle."
"Good evening, monseigneur."
"Are you going out, madame?" asked he.
"No."
"Then you are going in."
"We wished to do so."
"Have you not called Laurent?"
"Yes, we have, but – "
"But what?"
"You call Laurent, and you will see."
The young man, whom the reader has, perhaps, already recognized as the Comte d'Artois, approached and again called "Laurent."
"I warn you," answered from within the voice of the Suisse, "that if you torment me any more I will go and fetch my commanding officer."
"Who is this?" asked the count, turning round in astonishment to the queen.
"A Swiss who has been substituted for Laurent."
"By whom?"
"By the king."
"The king?"
"Yes, he told us so himself."
"And with orders?"
"Most strict, apparently."
"Diable! we must capitulate."
"What do you mean?" she asked.
"Offer him money."
"I have already done so, and he has refused it."
"Offer him promotion."
"I have offered that also, but he would not listen."
"Then there is but one way."
"What?"
"To make a noise."
"My dear Charles, you will compromise us."
"Not the least in the world; you keep in the background, I will knock like thunder, and shout like a madman; they will open at last, and you can slide in with me."
"Try, then."
The young prince began calling Laurent, knocking at the door and striking with his sword, till at last the Swiss said, "Ah, well! I will call my officer."
"Go and call him, that is just what I want."
They soon heard other steps approaching. The queen and Andrée kept close, ready to slip in if the door should open; then they heard the Swiss say, "It is a gentleman, lieutenant, who insists on coming in."
"Well, I suppose that is not astonishing, as we belong to the castle," said the count.
"It is no doubt a natural wish, but a forbidden one," replied the officer.
"Forbidden – by whom? morbleu!"
"By the king."
"But the king would not wish an officer of the castle to sleep outside."
"Sir, I am not the judge of that; I have only to obey orders."
"Come, lieutenant, open the door; we cannot talk through this oak."
"Sir, I repeat to you that my orders are to keep it shut; and if you are an officer, as you say, you know that I must obey."
"Lieutenant, you speak to the colonel of a regiment."
"Excuse me, then, colonel, but my orders are positive."
"But they cannot concern a prince. Come, sir, a prince cannot be kept out."
"My prince, I am in despair, but the king has ordered – "
"The king has ordered you to turn away his brother like a beggar or a robber? I am the Comte d'Artois, sir. Mordieu! you keep me here freezing at the door."
"Monseigneur, God is my witness that I would shed my blood for your royal highness. But the king gave me his orders in person, and confiding to me the charge of this door, ordered me not to open to any one, should it be even himself, after eleven o'clock. Therefore, monseigneur, I ask your pardon humbly for disobeying you, but I am a soldier, and were it her majesty the queen who asked admittance, I should be forced most unwillingly to refuse."
Having said this, the officer turned away and left the place.
"We are lost," said the queen.
"Do they know that you are out?" asked the count.
"Alas, I know not!"
"Perhaps, then, this order is leveled against me; the king knows I often go out at night, and stay late. Madame la Comtesse d'Artois must have heard something, and complained to him, and hence this tyrannical order."
"Ah, no, brother, I thank you for trying to reassure me, but I feel that it is against me these precautions are taken."
"Impossible, sister! the king has too much esteem – "
"Meanwhile, I am left at the door, and to-morrow a frightful scandal will be the result. I know well I have an enemy near the king."
"It is possible; however, I have an idea."
"What? only be quick. If you can but save us from the ridicule of this position, it is all I care for."
"Oh, I will save you; I am not more foolish than he, for all his learning."
"Than whom?"
"Ah, pardieu, the Comte de Provence."
"Ah, then, you also know my enemy."
"Is he not the enemy of all that are young and beautiful, of all who are better than himself?"
"Count, I believe you know something about this order."
"Perhaps, but do not let us stop here. Come with me, dear sister."
"Where?"
"You shall see, somewhere where at least you will be warm, and en route I will tell you all I know about this. Take my arm, sister, and you the other, Madlle. de Taverney, and let us turn to the right."
"Well, but now go on," said the queen.
"This evening after the king's supper, he came to his cabinet. He had been talking all day to Count Haga, you had not been seen – "
"No, at two o'clock I left to go to Paris."
"I know it. The king, allow me to tell you, dear sister, was thinking no more about you than about Haroun-al-Raschid, or his Vizier Giaffar, and was talking geography. I listened with some impatience, for I also wanted to go out; probably not with the same object as you."
"Where are we going?" interrupted the queen.
"Oh, close by; take care, there is a snow-heap. Madlle. de Taverney, if you leave my arm you will certainly fall. But to return to the king: he was thinking of nothing but latitude and longitude, when M. de Provence said to him, 'I should like to pay my respects to the queen.'
"'The queen sups at home,' replied the king.
"'Oh, I believed her at Paris.'
"'No, she is at home,' said the king, quietly.
"'I have just come from there, and been denied to her,' said M. de Provence.
"Then I saw the king frown. He dismissed us, and doubtless went to make inquiries. Louis is jealous by fits, you know; he must have asked to see you, and being refused, become suspicious."
"Yes, Madame de Misery had orders to do so."
"Then, to know whether you were out or not, he has given these strict orders."
"Oh, it is shameful treatment. Confess, is it not?"
"Indeed, I think so; but here we are."
"This house?"
"Does it displease you?"
"No, I do not say that – it is charming. But your servants?"
"Well!"
"If they see me."
"Come in, sister, and I will guarantee that no one sees you, not even whoever opens the door."
"Impossible!"
"We will try," said he, laughing; and laying his hand on one of the panels, the door flew open.
"Enter, I pray you," said he, "there is no one near."
The queen looked at Andrée, then, making up her mind, went in, and the door shut behind them.
She found herself in a vestibule, small, but ornamented in perfect taste. The floor was mosaic work, representing bouquets of flowers, while numerous rose-trees on marble brackets scented the air with a perfume equally delicious as rare at that time of the year.
It looked all so charming, that the ladies began to forget their fears and scruples.
"So far well," said the queen; "we have a shelter, at all events, and seemingly a very charming one; but you had better see to one thing – that is, to keep off your servants."
"Oh, nothing more easy;" and the prince, seizing a little bell which hung on one of the pillars, rang one clear stroke.
"Oh!" cried the queen, frightened, "is that the way to keep them off? I should have thought it would bring them."
"If I had rung again, it would have done so, but when I only ring once, they know they are not wanted."
"Oh, you are a man of precaution!" said the queen laughing.
"Now, dear sister, take the trouble to go up-stairs."
"Let us obey," said the queen, "the genius of this place appears not disagreeable;" and they went up, their steps making no sound on the thick Aubusson carpet.
At the top, the prince rang another bell, which gave them a fresh start of surprise, and their astonishment increased when they saw the doors open of themselves.
"Really, Andrée," said the queen, "I begin to tremble, do not you?"
"Oh, madame, I shall follow fearlessly wherever your majesty goes."
"Enter," said the prince, "for here is your apartment;" and he ushered them into a charming little room, furnished 'en buhl,' with a painted ceiling and walls, and a rosewood floor. It opened into a boudoir, fitted up with white cashmere, beautifully embroidered with groups of flowers, and hung with tapestry of exquisite workmanship. Beyond the boudoir was a bedroom, painted blue, hung with curtains of silk and lace, and with a sumptuous bed in an alcove. A fire burned on the hearth, and a dozen perfumed wax-lights in candelabra.
Such were the marvels which presented themselves to the eyes of the wondering ladies. No living being was to be seen; fire and lights seemed to have come without hands.
The queen stopped on the threshold of the bedroom, looking half afraid to enter.
"Sister," said the count, "these are my bachelor apartments; here I come alone."
"Always?" asked the queen.
"Doubtless," answered he.
"I understand now," said the queen, "why Madame la Comtesse is sometimes unquiet."
"Confess, however, that if she is unquiet to-night, it Will be without reason."
"To-night, I do not say, but other nights." Then, sitting down; "I am dreadfully tired," she said; "are not you, Andrée?"
"I can scarcely stand, and if your majesty permits – "
"Indeed you look ill, mademoiselle," said the count.
"You must go to bed," said the queen. "M. le Comte gives us up this room; do you not, Charles?"
"Entirely, madame."
"One moment, count. If you go away, how can we recall you?"
"You will not need me; you are mistress of this house."
"But there are other rooms."
"Certainly, there is a dining-room, which I advise you to visit."
"With a table ready spread, no doubt."
"Oh, yes, and Mademoiselle de Taverney, who seems to me to need it much, will find there jellies or chicken, and wine, and you, sister, plenty of those fruits you are so fond of."
"And no servants?"
"None."
"We will see; but how to return?"
"You must not think of returning to-night. At six o'clock the gates will be opened, go out a quarter before, you will find in these drawers mantles of all colors and all shapes, if you wish to disguise yourselves. Go therefore to the château, regain your rooms, go to bed, and all will be right."
"But you, what will you do?"
"Oh, I am going away."
"We turn you out, my poor brother!"
"It is better for me not to remain in the same house with you."
"But you must sleep somewhere."
"Do not fear; I have three other houses like this."
The queen laughed. "And he pretends Madame la Comtesse has no cause to be anxious; oh, I will tell her!"
"You dare not."
"It is true, we are dependent upon you. Then, to go away to-morrow morning without seeing any one?"
"You must ring once, as I did below, and the door will open."
"By itself?"
"By itself."
"Then good night, brother."
"Good night, sister." He bowed and disappeared.
CHAPTER VII.
THE QUEEN'S BED-CHAMBER
The next day, or rather the same morning, for our last chapter brought us to two o'clock, the King Louis XVI., in a violet-colored morning dress, in some disorder, and with no powder in his hair, knocked at the door of the queen's ante-chamber.
It was opened by one of her women.
"The queen?" asked Louis, in a brusque manner.
"Her majesty is asleep, sire."
The king made a movement, as though to pass in but the woman did not move.
"Do you not see," he said, "that I wish to come in."
"But the queen is asleep, sire," again she said timidly.
"I told you to let me pass," answered the king, going in as he spoke.
When he reached the door of the bedroom, the king saw Madame de Misery, the first lady-in-waiting, who was sitting reading from her mass book.
She rose on seeing him. "Sire," she said, in a low voice, and with a profound reverence, "her majesty has not yet called for me."
"Really?" said the king, in an ironical tone.
"But, sire, it is only half-past six, and her majesty never rings before seven."
"And you are sure that her majesty is asleep in bed?"
"I cannot affirm that she is asleep, sire, but I can that she is in bed."
The king could contain himself no longer, but went straight to the door, which he opened with some noise. The room was in complete darkness, the shutters closed, and the curtains drawn. A night lamp burned on a bracket, but it only gave a dim and feeble light.
The king walked rapidly towards the bed.
"Oh, Madame de Misery," said the queen, "how noisy you are – you have disturbed me!"
The king remained stupefied. "It is not Madame de Misery," he murmured.
"What, is it you, sire?" said Marie Antoinette, raising herself up.
"Good morning, madame," said the king, in a surly tone.
"What good wind blows you here, sire? Madame de Misery, come and open the shutters."
She came in instantly, as usual, opened all the doors and windows, to let in light and fresh air.
"You sleep well, madame," said the king, seating himself, and casting scrutinizing glances round the room.
"Yes, sire, I read late, and had your majesty not disturbed me, might have slept for some time longer."
"How was it that you did not receive visitors yesterday?" asked the king.
"Whom do you mean? – M. de Provence," said the queen, with great presence of mind.
"Yes, exactly; he wished to pay his respects to you, and was refused."
"Well!"
"They said you were out."
"Did they say that?" asked the queen carelessly. "Madame de Misery – "
The lady appeared, bringing in with her a number of letters on a gold salver. "Did your majesty call?" she asked.
"Yes. Did they tell M. de Provence yesterday that I was out? Will you tell the king, for really I forget."
"Sire," said Madame de Misery, while the queen took her letters and began to read, "I told Monseigneur le Comte de Provence that her majesty did not receive."
"And by whose orders?"
"By the queen's, sire."
Meanwhile, the queen had opened one of the letters, and read these lines: "You returned from Paris yesterday, and entered the château at eight o'clock in the evening; Laurent saw you."
Madame de Misery left the room.
"Pardon, sire," said the queen, "but will you answer me one question?"
"What, madame?"
"Am I, or am I not, at liberty to see M. de Provence only when it pleases me?"
"Oh, perfectly at liberty, madame, but – "
"Well, his conversation wearies me; besides, he does not love me, and I like him no better. I expected his visit, and went to bed at eight o'clock to avoid it. But you look disturbed, sire."
"I believed you to be in Paris yesterday."
"At what time?"
"At the time at which you pretend to have gone to bed."
"Doubtless, I went to Paris; but what of that?"
"All, madame, depends on what time you returned."
"Oh, you wish to know at what time exactly I returned?"
"Yes."
"It is easy. Madame de Misery – "
The Lady reappeared.
"What time was it when I returned from Paris yesterday?"
"About eight o'clock, your majesty."
"I do not believe it," said the king, "you make a mistake, Madame de Misery."
The lady walked to the door, and called, "Madame Dural!"
"Yes, madame," replied a voice.
"At what time did her majesty return from Paris yesterday?"
"About eight o'clock, madame," replied the other.
"The king thinks we are mistaken."
Madame Dural put her head out of the window, and cried, "Laurent!"
"Who is Laurent?" asked the king.
"The porter at the gate where her majesty entered," said Madame de Misery.
"Laurent," said Madame Dural, "what time was it when her majesty came home last evening?"
"About eight o'clock," answered Laurent.
Madame de Misery then left the room, and the king and queen remained alone.
He felt ashamed of his suspicions.
The queen, however, only said coldly, "Well, sire, is there anything else you wish to know?"
"Oh, nothing!" cried he, taking her hands in his; "forgive me; I do not know what came into my head – my joy is as great as my repentance. You will not be angry, will you? I am in despair at having annoyed you."
The queen withdrew her hand, and said; "Sire, a queen of France must not tell a falsehood."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean that I did not return at eight o'clock last evening."
The king drew back in surprise.
"I mean," continued the queen in the same cold manner, "that I only returned at six o'clock this morning."
"Madame!"
"And that, but for the kindness of M. le Comte d'Artois, who gave me an asylum, and lodged me out of pity in one of his houses, I should have been left all night at the door of the château like a beggar."
"Ah! you had not then returned?" said the king, gloomily; "then I was right."
"Sire, you have not behaved towards me as a gentleman should."
"In what, madame?"
"In this – that if you wish to know whether I return late or early, you have no need to close the gates, with orders not to open them, but simply to come to me and ask, 'Madame, at what time did you return?' You have no more reason to doubt, sire. Your spies have been deceived, your precautions nullified, and your suspicions dissipated. I saw you ashamed of the part you had played, and I might have continued to triumph in my victory, but I think your proceedings shameful for a king, and unworthy of a gentleman; and I would not refuse myself the satisfaction of telling you so.
"It is useless, sire," she continued, seeing the king about to speak; "nothing can excuse your conduct towards me."
"On the contrary, madame," replied he, "nothing is more easy. Not a single person in the château suspected that you had not already returned; therefore no one could think that my orders referred to you. Probably they were attributed to the dissipations of M. le Comte d'Artois – for that I care nothing. Therefore, madame, appearances were saved, as far as you were concerned. I wished simply to give you a secret lesson, from which the amount of irritation you show leads me to hope you will profit. Therefore, I still think I was in the right, and do not repent what I have done."
The queen listened, and seemed to calm herself, by an effort, to prepare for the approaching contest. "Then, sire," she said, "you think you need no excuse for keeping at the door of your castle the daughter of Maria Theresa, your wife, and the mother of your children? No! it is in your eyes a pleasantry worthy of a king, and of which the morality doubles the value. It is nothing to you, to have forced the Queen of France to pass the night in this 'petite maison,' where the Comte d'Artois receives the ladies of the Opera and the 'femmes galantes' of your court. Oh no! that is nothing. A philosopher king is above all such considerations. Only, on this occasion, I have reason to thank heaven that my brother-in-law is a dissipated man, as his dissipation has saved me from disgrace, and his vices have sheltered my honor."
The king colored, and moved uneasily on his chair.
"Oh yes!" continued the queen, with a bitter laugh, "I know that you are a moral king, but your morality produces strange effects. You say that no one knew that I was out. Will you tell me that M. de Provence, your instigator, did not know it; or M. le Comte d'Artois – or my women? who, by my orders, told you falsehoods this morning; or Laurent – bought by M. d'Artois and by me? Let us continue this habit, sire; you, to set spies and Swiss guards; and I, to buy them over and cheat you; and in a month we will calculate together how much the dignity of the throne and our marriage has gained by it."
It was evident that her words had made a great impression on him to whom they were addressed.
"You know," said he, in an altered voice, "that I am always sincere, and willing to acknowledge if I have been wrong. Will you prove to me that you were right to go into Paris in sledges, accompanied by a gay party, which, in the present unhappy state of things, is likely to give offense? Will you prove to me, that you were right to disappear in Paris, like maskers at a ball, and only to reappear scandalously late at night, when every one else was asleep? You have spoken of the dignity of the throne, and of marriage; think you that it befits a queen, a wife, and a mother, to act thus?"
"I will reply in a few words, sire; for it seems to me, that such accusations merit nothing but contempt. I left Versailles in a sledge, because it is the quickest way of getting to Paris at present. I went with Madlle. de Taverney, whose reputation is certainly one of the purest in our court. I went to Paris, I repeat, to verify the fact that the King of France, the great upholder of morality – he who takes care of poor strangers, warms the beggars, and earns the gratitude of the people by his charities, leaves dying of hunger, exposed to every attack of vice and misery, one of his own family – one who is as much as himself a descendant of the kings who have reigned in France."
"What!" cried the king in surprise.
"I mounted," continued the queen, "into a garret, and there saw, without fire, almost without light, and without money, the granddaughter of a great prince, and I gave one hundred louis to this victim of royal forgetfulness and neglect. Then, as I was detained late there, and as the frost was severe, and horses go slowly over ice, particularly hackney-coach horses – "
"Hackney-coach horses!" cried the king. "You returned in a hackney-coach?"
"Yes, sire – No. 107."
"Oh, oh!" said the king, with every sign of vexation.
"Yes, and only too happy to get it," said the queen.
"Madame!" interrupted he, "you are full of noble feelings; but this impetuous generosity becomes a fault. Remember," continued he, "that I never suspected you of anything that was not perfectly pure and honest: it is only your mode of acting and adventurous spirit that displease me. You have, as usual, been doing good, but the way you set about it makes it injurious to yourself. This is what I reproach you with. You say that I have faults to repair – that I have failed in my duty to a member of my own family. Tell me who the unfortunate is, and he shall no longer have reason to complain."
"The name of Valois, sire, is sufficiently illustrious not to have escaped your memory."
"Ah!" cried Louis, with a shout of laughter, "I know now whom you mean. La petite Valois, is it not? – a countess of something or other."
"De la Motte, sire."
"Precisely, De la Motte; her husband is a gendarme."
"Yes, sire."
"And his wife is an intrigante. Oh! you need not trouble yourself about her: she is moving heaven and earth; she worries my ministers, she teases my aunts, and overwhelms me with supplications, memorials, and genealogies."
"And all this uselessly, sire."
"I must confess it."
"Is she, or is she not, a Valois?"
"I believe she is."
"Well, then, I ask an honorable pension for her and a regiment for her husband. In fact, a decent position for this branch of the royal family."
"An honorable pension? Mon Dieu! how you run on, madame. Do you know what a terrible hole this winter has made in my funds? A regiment for this little gendarme, who speculated in marrying a Valois? Why, I have no regiments to give, even to those who deserve them, or who can pay for them. An income befitting a Valois for these people? when we, monarch as we are, have not one befitting a rich gentleman. Why, M. d'Orleans has sent his horses and mules to England for sale, and has cut off a third of his establishment. I have put down my wolf-hounds, and given up many other things. We are all on the privation list, great and small."
"But these Valois must not die of hunger."
"Have you not just given them one hundred louis?"
"And what is that?"
"A royal gift."
"Then give such another."
"Yours will do for us both."
"No, I want a pension for them."
"No, I will not bind myself to anything fixed; they will not let me forget them, and I will give when I have money to spare. I do not think much of this little Valois."
Saying these words, Louis held out his hand to the queen, who, however, turned from him and said, "No, you are not good to me, and I am angry."
"You bear malice," said the king "and I – "
"Oh, you shut the gates against me; you come at half-past six to my room, and force open the door in a passion."
"I was not in a passion," said the king.
"You are not now, you mean."
"What will you give me if I prove that I was not, even when I came in?"
"Let me see the proof."
"Oh, it is very easy; I have it in my pocket."
"Bah!" said the queen; but adding, with curiosity, "You have brought something to give me, but I warn you I shall not believe you, unless you show it me at once."
Then, with a smile full of kindness, the king began searching in his pockets, with that slowness which makes the child doubly impatient for his toy, the animal for his food, and the woman for her present: at last he drew out a box of red morocco leather, artistically ornamented in gold.
"A jewel box!" cried the queen.
The king laid it on the bed.
She opened it impatiently, and then called out, "Oh, mon Dieu! how beautiful!"
The king smiled with delight. "Do you think so?" said he.
The queen could not answer – she was breathless with admiration. Then she drew out of the box a necklace of diamonds, so large, so pure, so glittering, and so even, that, with sparkling eyes, she cried again, "Oh! it is magnificent."
"Then you are content?" said the king.
"Enchanted, sire; you make me too happy."
"Really?"
"See this first row; the diamonds are as large as filberts, and so even, you could not tell one from the other; then how beautifully the gradation of the rows is managed; the jeweler who made this necklace is an artist."
"They are two."
"Then I wager it is Bœhmer and Bossange."
"You have guessed right."
"Indeed, no one but they would risk making such a thing."
"Madame, take care," said the king; "you will have to pay too dear for this necklace."
"Oh, sire!" cried the queen, all the delight fading from her countenance.
"You must pay the price of letting me be the first to put it on: " and he approached her, holding in his hands the two ends of the magnificent necklace, of which the clasp was one great diamond.
She stopped him, saying, "But, sire, is it very dear?"
"Have I not told you the price?"
"Ah, Louis, we must not jest. Put the necklace back again."
"You refuse to allow me to put it on?"
"Oh no, sire, if I were going to wear it."
"What?" said the king, surprised.
"No," she said; "no one shall see a necklace of this price round my neck."
"You will not wear it?"
"Never."
"You refuse me."
"I refuse to wear a million or a million and a half of francs round my neck, for this necklace must cost that."