The Queen's Necklace, Alexandre Dumas père [best love story novels in english TXT] 📗

then, take me for an editor?"

"No, and there is the mischief, when men like you repeat such calumnies, which, without that, would melt away like the unwholesome vapors which sometimes obscure the most brilliant sunshine; but people like you, repeating them, give them a terrible stability. Oh! monsieur, for mercy's sake do not repeat such things."

"I do repeat them, however."

"And why do you repeat them?" cried Philippe, fiercely.

"Oh!" said the old man with his satanic laugh, "to prove to you that I was not wrong when I said, 'Philippe, the queen looks back; she is looking for you. Philippe, the queen wishes for you; run to her.'"

"Oh! father, hold your tongue, or you will drive me mad."

"Really, Philippe, I do not understand you. Is it a crime to love? It shows that one has a heart; and in the eyes of this woman, in her voice, in everything, can you not read her heart? She loves; is it you? or is it another? I know not, but believe in my own experience: at this moment she loves, or is beginning to love, some one. But you are a philosopher, a Puritan, a Quaker, an American; you do not love; well, then, let her look; let her turn again and again; despise her, Philippe, I should say Joseph de Taverney."

The old man hurried away, satisfied with the effect he had produced, and fled like the serpent who was the first tempter into crime.

Philippe remained alone, his heart swelling and his blood boiling. He remained fixed in his place for about half an hour, when the queen, having finished her tour, returned to where he stood, and called out to him:

"You must be rested now, M. de Taverney; come, then, for there is no one like you to guide a queen royally."

Philippe ran to her, giddy, and hardly knowing what he did. He placed his hand on the back of the sledge, but started as though he had burned his fingers; the queen had thrown herself negligently back in the sledge, and the fingers of the young man touched the locks of Marie Antoinette.


CHAPTER XI.

M. DE SUFFREN.

Contrary to the usual habits of a court, the secret had been faithfully confined to Louis XVI. and the Comte d'Artois. No one knew at what time or hour M. de Suffren would arrive.

The king had announced his jeu du roi for the evening; and at seven o'clock he entered, with ten princes and princesses of his family. The queen came holding the princess royal, now about seven years old, by the hand. The assembly was numerous and brilliant. The Comte d'Artois approached the queen, and said, "Look around you, madame."

"Well?"

"What do you see?"

The queen looked all around, and then said, "I see nothing but happy and friendly faces."

"Rather, then, whom do you not see?"

"Oh! I understand; I wonder if he is always going to run away from me."

"Oh no! only this is a good joke; M. de Provence has gone to wait at the barrier for M. de Suffren."

"Well, I do not see why you laugh at that; he has been the most cunning, after all, and will be the first to receive and pay his compliments to this gentleman."

"Come, dear sister," replied the young prince, laughing, "you have a very mean opinion of our diplomacy. M. de Provence has gone to meet him at Fontainebleau; but we have sent some one to meet him at Villejuif, so that my brother will wait by himself at Fontainebleau, while our messenger will conduct M. de Suffren straight to Versailles, without passing through Paris at all."

"That is excellently imagined."

"It is not bad, I flatter myself; but it is your turn to play."

The king had noticed that M. d'Artois was making the queen laugh, and guessing what it was about, gave them a significant glance, to show that he shared their amusement.

The saloon where they played was full of persons of the highest rank--M. de Conde, M. de Penthievre, M. de Tremouille, etc. The news of the arrival of M. de Suffren had, as we have said, been kept quiet, but there had been a kind of vague rumor that some one was expected, and all were somewhat preoccupied and watchful. Even the king, who was in the habit of playing six-franc pieces in order to moderate the play of the court, played gold without thinking of it.

The queen, however, to all appearances entered, as usual, eagerly into the game.

Philippe, who, with his sister, was admitted to the party, in vain endeavored to shake from his mind his father's words. He asked himself if indeed this old man, who had seen so much of courts, was not right; and if his own ideas were indeed those of a Puritan, and belonging to another land. This queen, so charming, so beautiful, and so friendly towards him, was she indeed only a terrible coquette, anxious to add one lover more to her list, as the entomologist transfixes a new insect or butterfly, without thinking of the tortures of the poor creature whose heart he is piercing? "Coigny, Vaudreuil," repeated he to himself, "they loved the queen, and were loved by her. Oh, why does this calumny haunt me so, or why will not some ray of light discover to me the heart of this woman?"

Then Philippe turned his eyes to the other end of the table, where, by a strange chance, these gentlemen were sitting side by side, and both seemingly equally forgetful of, and insensible to, the queen; and he thought that it was impossible that these men could have loved and be so calm, or that they could have been loved and seem so forgetful. From them he turned to look at Marie Antoinette herself and interrogated that pure forehead, that haughty mouth, and beautiful face; and the answer they all seemed to give him was: calumnies, all calumnies, these rumors, originating only in the hates and jealousies of a court.

While he was coming to these conclusions the clock struck a quarter to eight, and at that moment a great noise of footsteps and the sound of many voices were heard on the staircase. The king, hearing it, signed to the queen, and they both rose and broke up the game. She then passed into the great reception-hall, and the king followed her.

An aide-de-camp of M. de Castries, Minister of Marine, approached the king and said something in a low tone, when M. de Castries himself entered, and said aloud, "Will your majesty receive M. de Suffren, who has arrived from Toulon?"

At this name a general movement took place in the assembly.

"Yes, sir," said the king, "with great pleasure;" and M. de Castries left the room.

To explain this interest for M. de Suffren, and why king, queen, princes, and ministers contended who should be the first to receive him, a few words will suffice.

Suffren is a name essentially French, like Turenne or Jean Bart. Since the last war with England, M. de Suffren had fought seven great naval battles without sustaining a defeat. He had taken Trincomalee and Gondeleur, scoured the seas, and taught the Nabob Hyder Ali that France was the first Power in Europe. He had carried into his profession all the skill of an able diplomatist, all the bravery and all the tactics of a soldier, and all the prudence of a wise ruler. Hardy, indefatigable, and proud when the honor of the French nation was in question, he had harassed the English, by land and by sea, till even these fierce islanders were afraid of him.

But after the battle, in which he risked his life like the meanest sailor, he ever showed himself humane, generous, and compassionate. He was now about fifty-six years of age, stout and short, but with an eye of fire and a noble carriage, and, like a man accustomed to surmount all difficulties, he had dressed in his traveling-carriage.

He wore a blue coat embroidered with gold, a red waistcoat, and blue trousers.

All the guards through whom he had passed, when he was named to them by M. de Castries, had saluted him as they would have done a king.

"M. de Suffren," said the king when he entered, "welcome to Versailles; you bring glory with you."

M. de Suffren bent his knee to the king, who, however, raised him and embraced him cordially; then, turning to the queen, "Madame," said he, "here is M. de Suffren, the victor of Trincomalee and Gondeleur, and the terror of the English."

"Monsieur," said the queen, "I wish you to know that you have not fired a shot for the glory of France but my heart has beaten with admiration and gratitude."

When she ceased, the Comte d'Artois approached with his son, the Duc d'Angouleme.

"My son," said he, "you see a hero; look at him well, for it is a rare sight."

"Monseigneur," replied the young prince, "I have read about the great men in Plutarch, but I could not see them; I thank you for showing me M. de Suffren."

The king now took the arm of M. de Suffren, in order to lead him to his study, and talk to him of his travels; but he made a respectful resistance.

"Sire," said he, "will your majesty permit me----"

"Oh! whatever you wish, sir."

"Then, sire, one of my officers has committed so grave a fault against discipline, that I thought your majesty ought to be sole judge of the offense."

"Oh, M. de Suffren, I had hoped your first request would have been a favor, and not a punishment."

"Your majesty, as I have had the honor to say, shall judge what ought to be done. In the last battle the officer of whom I speak was on board _La Severe_."

"Oh, the ship that struck her flag!" cried the king, frowning.

"Yes, sire. The captain of _La Severe_ had indeed struck his flag, and already Sir Hugh, the English admiral, had despatched a boat to take possession of his prize, when the lieutenant in command of the guns of the middle deck, perceiving that the firing above had ceased, and having received orders to stop his own fire, went on deck, saw the flag lowered, and the captain ready to surrender. At this sight, sir, all his French blood revolted, he took the flag which lay there, and, seizing a hammer, ordered the men to recommence the fire, while he nailed it to the mast. It was by this action, sire, that _La Severe_ was preserved to your majesty."

"A splendid action!" cried the king and queen simultaneously.

"Yes, sire--yes, madame, but a grave fault against discipline. The order had been given by the captain, and the lieutenant ought to have obeyed. I, however, ask for the pardon of the officer, and the more so as he is my own nephew."

"Your nephew!" cried the king; "and you have never mentioned him!"

"Not to you, sire; but I made my report to the ministers, begging them to say nothing about it until I had obtained his pardon from your majesty."

"It is granted," said the king. "I promise beforehand my protection to all who may violate discipline in such a cause. You must present this officer to me, M. de Suffren."

M. de Suffren turned. "Approach, M. de Charny," he said.

The queen started at the sound of this name, which she