IN WHICH M. SEGUIER, KEEPER OF THE SEALS, LOOKS MORE THAN ONCE FOR THE BELL, IN ORDER TO RING IT, AS HE DID BEFORE

It is impossible to form an idea of the impression these few

words made upon Louis XIII. He grew pale and red alternately;

and the cardinal saw at once that he had recovered by a single

blow all the ground he had lost.

"Buckingham in Paris!" cried he, "and why does he come?"

"To conspire, no doubt, with your enemies, the Huguenots and the

Spaniards."

"No, PARDIEU, no! To conspire against my honor with Madame de

Chevreuse, Madame de Longueville, and the Condes."

"Oh, sire, what an idea! The queen is too virtuous; and besides,

loves your Majesty too well."

"Woman is weak, Monsieur Cardinal," said the king; "and as to

loving me much, I have my own opinion as to that love."

"I not the less maintain," said the cardinal, "that the Duke of

Buckingham came to Paris for a project wholly political."

"And I am sure that he came for quite another purpose, Monsieur

Cardinal; but if the queen be guilty, let her tremble!"

"Indeed," said the cardinal, "whatever repugnance I may have to

directing my mind to such a treason, your Majesty compels me to

think of it. Madame de Lannoy, whom, according to your Majesty`s

command, I have frequently interrogated, told me this morning

that the night before last her Majesty sat up very late, that

this morning she wept much, and that she was writing all day."

"That`s it!" cried the king; "to him, no doubt. Cardinal, I must

have the queen`s papers."

"But how to take them, sire? It seems to me that it is neither

your Majesty not myself who can charge himself with such a

mission."

"How did they act with regard to the Marechale d`Ancre?" cried

the king, in the highest state of choler; "first her closets were

thoroughly searched, and then she herself."

"The Marechale d`Ancre was no more than the Marechale d`Ancre. A

Florentine adventurer, sire, and that was all; while the august

spouse of your Majesty is Anne of Austria, Queen of France--that

is to say, one of the greatest princesses in the world."

"She is not the less guilty, Monsieur Duke! The more she has

forgotten the high position in which she was placed, the more

degrading is her fall. Besides, I long ago determined to put an

end to all these petty intrigues of policy and love. She has

near her a certain Laporte."

"Who, I believe, is the mainspring of all this, I confess," said

the cardinal.

"You think then, as I do, that she deceives me?" said the king.

"I believe, and I repeat it to your Majesty, that the queen

conspires against the power of the king, but I have not said

against his honor."

"And I--I tell you against both. I tell you the queen does not

love me; I tell you she loves another; I tell you she loves that

infamous Buckingham! Why did you not have him arrested while in

Paris?"

"Arrest the Duke! Arrest the prime minister of King Charles I!

Think of it, sire! What a scandal! And if the suspicions of

your Majesty, which I still continue to doubt, should prove to

have any foundation, what a terrible disclosure, what a fearful

scandal!"

"But as he exposed himself like a vagabond or a thief, he should

have been--"

Louis XIII stopped, terrified at what he was about to say, while

Richelieu, stretching out his neck, waited uselessly for the word

which had died on the lips of the king.

"He should have been--?"

"Nothing," said the king, "nothing. But all the time he was in

Paris, you, of course, did not lose sight of him?"

"No, sire."

"Where did he lodge?"

"Rue de la Harpe. No. 75."

"Where is that?"

"By the side of the Luxembourg."

"And you are certain that the queen and he did not see each

other?"

"I believe the queen to have too high a sense of her duty, sire."

"But they have corresponded; it is to him that the queen has been

writing all the day. Monsieur Duke, I must have those letters!"

"Sire, notwithstanding--"

"Monsieur Duke, at whatever price it may be, I will have them."

"I would, however, beg your Majesty to observe--"

"Do you, then, also join in betraying me, Monsieur Cardinal, by

thus always opposing my will? Are you also in accord with Spain

and England, with Madame de Chevreuse and the queen?"

"Sire," replied the cardinal, sighing, "I believed myself secure

from such a suspicion."

"Monsieur Cardinal, you have heard me; I will have those

letters."

"There is but one way."

"What is that?"

"That would be to charge Monsieur de Seguier, the keeper of the

seals, with this mission. The matter enters completely into the

duties of the post."

"Let him be sent for instantly."

"He is most likely at my hotel. I requested him to call, and

when I came to the Louvre I left orders if he came, to desire him

to wait."

"Let him be sent for instantly."

"Your Majesty`s orders shall be executed; but--"

"But what?"

"But the queen will perhaps refuse to obey."

"My orders?"

"Yes, if she is ignorant that these orders come from the king."

"Well, that she may have no doubt on that head, I will go and

inform her myself."

"Your Majesty will not forget that I have done everything in my

power to prevent a rupture."

"Yes, Duke, yes, I know you are very indulgent toward the queen,

too indulgent, perhaps; we shall have occasion, I warn you, at

some future period to speak of that."

"Whenever it shall please your Majesty; but I shall be always

happy and proud, sire, to sacrifice myself to the harmony which I

desire to see reign between you and the Queen of France."

"Very well, Cardinal, very well; but, meantime, send for Monsieur

the Keeper of the Seals. I will go to the queen."

And Louis XIII, opening the door of communication, passed into

the corridor which led from his apartments to those of Anne of

Austria.

The queen was in the midst of her women--Mme. de Guitaut, Mme. de

Sable, Mme. de Montbazon, and Mme. de Guemene. In a corner was

the Spanish companion, Donna Estafania, who had followed her from

Madrid. Mme. Guemene was reading aloud, and everybody was

listening to her with attention with the exception of the queen,

who had, on the contrary, desired this reading in order that she

might be able, while feigning to listen, to pursue the thread of

her own thoughts.

These thoughts, gilded as they were by a last reflection of love,

were not the less sad. Anne of Austria, deprived of the

confidence of her husband, pursued by the hatred of the cardinal,

who could not pardon her for having repulsed a more tender

feeling, having before her eyes the example of the queen-mother

whom that hatred had tormented all her life--though Marie de

Medicis, if the memoirs of the time are to be believed, had begun

by according to the cardinal that sentiment which Anne of Austria

always refused him--Anne of Austria had seen her most devoted

servants fall around her, her most intimate confidants, her

dearest favorites. Like those unfortunate persons endowed with a

fatal gift, she brought misfortune upon everything she touched.

Her friendship was a fatal sign which called down persecution.

Mme. de Chevreuse and Mme. de Bernet were exiled, and Laporte did

not conceal from his mistress that he expected to be arrested

every instant.

It was at the moment when she was plunged in the deepest and

darkest of these reflections that the door of the chamber opened,

and the king entered.

The reader hushed herself instantly. All the ladies rose, and

there was a profound silence. As to the king, he made no

demonstration of politeness, only stopping before the queen.

"Madame," said he, "you are about to receive a visit from the

chancellor, who will communicate certain matters to you with

which I have charged him."

The unfortunate queen, who was constantly threatened with

divorce, exile, and trial even, turned pale under her rouge, and

could not refrain from saying, "But why this visit, sire? What

can the chancellor have to say to me that your Majesty could not

say yourself?"

The king turned upon his heel without reply, and almost at the

same instant the captain of the Guards, M. de Guitant, announced

the visit of the chancellor.

When the chancellor appeared, the king had already gone out by

another door.

The chancellor entered, half smiling, half blushing. As we shall

probably meet with him again in the course of our history, it may

be well for our readers to be made at once acquainted with him.

This chancellor was a pleasant man. He was Des Roches le Masle,

canon of Notre Dame, who had formerly been valet of a bishop, who

introduced him to his Eminence as a perfectly devout man. The

cardinal trusted him, and therein found his advantage.

There are many stories related of him, and among them this.

After a wild youth, he had retired into a convent, there to

expiate, at least for some time, the follies of adolescence. On

entering this holy place, the poor penitent was unable to shut

the door so close as to prevent the passions he fled from

entering with him. He was incessantly attacked by them, and the

superior, to whom he had confided this misfortune, wishing as

much as in him lay to free him from them, had advised him, in

order to conjure away the tempting demon, to have recourse to the

bell rope, and ring with all his might. At the denunciating

sound, the monks would be rendered aware that temptation was

besieging a brother, and all the community would go to prayers.

This advice appeared good to the future chancellor. He conjured

the evil spirit with abundance of prayers offered up by the

monks. But the devil does not suffer himself to be easily

dispossessed from a place in which he has fixed his garrison. In

proportion as they redoubled the exorcisms he redoubled the

temptations; so that day and night the bell was ringing full

swing, announcing the extreme desire for mortification which the

penitent experienced.

The monks had no longer an instant of repose. By day they did

nothing but ascend and descend the steps which led to the chapel;

at night, in addition to complines and matins, they were further

obliged to leap twenty times out of their beds and prostrate

themselves on the floor of their cells.

It is not known whether it was the devil who gave way, or the

monks who grew tired; but within three months the penitent

reappeared in the world with the reputation of being the most

terrible POSSESSED that ever existed.

On leaving the convent he entered into the magistracy, became

president on the place of his uncle, embraced the cardinal`s

party, which did not prove want of sagacity, became chancellor,

served his Eminence with zeal in his hatred against the queen-

mother and his vengeance against Anne of Austria, stimulated the

judges in the affair of Calais, encouraged the attempts of M. de

Laffemas, chief gamekeeper of France; then, at length, invested

with the entire confidence of the cardinal--a confidence which he

had so well earned-he received the singular commission for the

execution of which he presented himself in the queen`s

apartments.

The queen was still standing when he entered; but scarcely had

she perceived him then she reseated herself in her armchair, and

made a sign to her women to resume their cushions and stools, and

with an air of supreme hauteur, said, "What do you desire,

monsieur, and with what object do you present yourself here?"

"To make, madame, in the name of the king, and without prejudice

to the respect which I have the honor to owe to your Majesty a

close examination into all your papers."

"How, monsieur, an investigation of my papers--mine! Truly, this

is an indignity!"

"Be kind enough to pardon me, madame; but in this circumstance I

am but the instrument which the king employs. Has not his

Majesty just left you, and has he not himself asked you to

prepare for this visit?"

"Search, then, monsieur! I am a criminal, as it appears.

Estafania, give up the keys of my drawers and my desks."

For form`s sake the chancellor paid a visit to the pieces of

furniture named; but he well knew that it was not in a piece of

furniture that the queen would place the important letter she had

written that day.

When the chancellor had opened and shut twenty times the drawers

of the secretaries, it became necessary, whatever hesitation he

might experience--it became necessary, I say, to come to the

conclusion of the affair; that is to say, to search the queen

herself. The chancellor advanced, therefore, toward Anne of

Austria, and said with a very perplexed and embarrassed air, "And

now it remains for me to make the principal examination."

"What is that?" asked the queen, who did not understand, or

rather was not willing to understand.

"His majesty is certain that a letter has been written by you

during the day; he knows that it has not yet been sent to its

address. This letter is not in your table nor in your secretary;

and yet this letter must be somewhere."

"Would you dare to lift your hand to your queen?" said Anne of

Austria, drawing herself up to her full height, and fixing her

eyes upon the chancellor with an expression almost threatening.

"I am a faithful subject of the king, madame, and all that his

Majesty commands I shall do."

"Well, it is true!" said Anne of Austria; "and the spies of the

cardinal have served him faithfully. I have written a letter

today; that letter is not yet gone. The letter is here." And

the queen laid her beautiful hand on her bosom.

"Then give me that letter, madame," said the chancellor.

"I will give it to none but the king monsieur," said Anne.

"If the king had desired that the letter should be given to him,

madame, he would have demanded it of you himself. But I repeat

to you, I am charged with reclaiming it; and if you do not give

it up--"

"Well?"

"He has, then, charged me to take it from you."

"How! What do you say?"

"That my orders go far, madame; and that I am authorized to seek

for the suspected paper, even on the person of your Majesty."

"What horror!" cried the queen.

"Be kind enough, then, madame, to act more compliantly."

"The conduct is infamously violent! Do you know that, monsieur?"

"The king commands it, madame; excuse me."

"I will not suffer it! No, no, I would rather die!" cried the

queen, in whom the imperious blood of Spain and Austria began to

rise.

The chancellor made a profound reverence. Then, with the

intention quite patent of not drawing back a foot from the

accomplishment of the commission with which he was charged, and

as the attendant of an executioner might have done in the chamber

of torture, he approached Anne of Austria, for whose eyes at the

same instant sprang tears of rage.

The queen was, as we have said, of great beauty. The commission

might well be called delicate; and the king had reached, in his

jealousy of Buckingham, the point of not being jealous of anyone

else.

Without doubt the chancellor, Seguier looked about at that moment

for the rope of the famous bell; but not finding it he summoned

his resolution, and stretched forth his hands toward the place

where the queen had acknowledged the paper was to be found.

Anne of Austria took one step backward, became so pale that it

might be said she was dying, and leaning with her left hand upon

a table behind her to keep herself from falling, she with her

right hand drew the paper from her bosom and held it out to the

keeper of the seals.

"There, monsieur, there is that letter!" cried the queen, with a

broken and trembling voice; "take it, and deliver me from your

odious presence."

The chancellor, who, on his part, trembled with an emotion easily

to be conceived, took the letter, bowed to the ground, and

retired. The door was scarcely closed upon him, when the queen

sank, half fainting, into the arms of her women.

The chancellor carried the letter to the king without having read

a single word of it. The king took it with a trembling hand,

looked for the address, which was wanting, became very pale,

opened it slowly, then seeing by the first words that it was

addressed to the King of Spain, he read it rapidly.

It was nothing but a plan of attack against the cardinal. The

queen pressed her brother and the Emperor of Austria to appear to

be wounded, as they really were, by the policy of Richelieu--the

eternal object of which was the abasement of the house of

Austria--to declare war against France, and as a condition of

peace, to insist upon the dismissal of the cardinal; but as to

love, there was not a single word about it in all the letter.

The king, quite delighted, inquired if the cardinal was still at

the Louvre; he was told that his Eminence awaited the orders of

his Majesty in the business cabinet.

The king went straight to him.

"There, Duke," said he, "you were right and I was wrong. The

whole intrigue is political, and there is not the least question

of love in this letter; but, on the other hand, there is abundant

question of you."

The cardinal took the letter, and read it with the greatest

attention; then, when he had arrived at the end of it, he read it

a second time. "Well, your Majesty," said he, "you see how far

my enemies go; they menace you with two wars if you do not

dismiss me. In your place, in truth, sire, I should yield to

such powerful instance; and on my part, it would be a real

happiness to withdraw from public affairs."

"What say you, Duke?"

"I say, sire, that my health is sinking under these excessive

struggles and these never-ending labors. I say that according to

all probability I shall not be able to undergo the fatigues of

the siege of La Rochelle, and that it would be far better that

you should appoint there either Monsieur de Conde, Monsieur de

Bassopierre, or some valiant gentleman whose business is war, and

not me, who am a churchman, and who am constantly turned aside

for my real vocation to look after matters for which I have no

aptitude. You would be the happier for it at home, sire, and I

do not doubt you would be the greater for it abroad."

"Monsieur Duke," said the king, "I understand you. Be satisfied,

all who are named in that letter shall be punished as they

deserve, even the queen herself."

"What do you say, sire? God forbid that the queen should suffer

the least inconvenience or uneasiness on my account! She has

always believed me, sire, to be her enemy; although your Majesty

can bear witness that I have always taken her part warmly, even

against you. Oh, if she betrayed your Majesty on the side of

your honor, it would be quite another thing, and I should be the

first to say, `No grace, sire--no grace for the guilty!`

Happily, there is nothing of the kind, and your Majesty has just

acquired a new proof of it."

"That is true, Monsieur Cardinal," said the king, "and you were

right, as you always are; but the queen, not the less, deserves

all my anger."

"It is you, sire, who have now incurred hers. And even if she

were to be seriously offended, I could well understand it; your

Majesty has treated her with a severity--"

"It is thus I will always treat my enemies and yours, Duke,

however high they may be placed, and whatever peril I may incur

in acting severely toward them."

"The queen is my enemy, but is not yours, sire; on the contrary,

she is a devoted, submissive, and irreproachable wife. Allow me,

then, sire, to intercede for her with your Majesty."

"Let her humble herself, then, and come to me first."

"On the contrary, sire, set the example. You have committed the

first wrong, since it was you who suspected the queen."

"What! I make the first advances?" said the king. "Never!"

"Sire, I entreat you to do so."

"Besides, in what manner can I make advances first?"

"By doing a thing which you know will be agreeable to her."

"What is that?"

"Give a ball; you know how much the queen loves dancing. I will

answer for it, her resentment will not hold out against such an

attention."

"Monsieur Cardinal, you know that I do not like worldly

pleasures."

"The queen will only be the more grateful to you, as she knows

your antipathy for that amusement; besides, it will be an

opportunity for her to wear those beautiful diamonds which you

gave her recently on her birthday and with which she has since

had no occasion to adorn herself."

"We shall see, Monsieur Cardinal, we shall see," said the king,

who, in his joy at finding the queen guilty of a crime which he

cared little about, and innocent of a fault of which he had great

dread, was ready to make up all differences with her, "we shall

see, but upon my honor, you are too indulgent toward her."

"Sire," said the cardinal, "leave severity to your ministers.

Clemency is a royal virtue; employ it, and you will find that you

derive advantage therein."

Thereupon the cardinal, hearing the clock strike eleven, bowed

low, asking permission of the king to retire, and supplicating

him to come to a good understanding with the queen.

Anne of Austria, who, in consequence of the seizure of her

letter, expected reproaches, was much astonished the next day to

see the king make some attempts at reconciliation with her. Her

first movement was repellent. Her womanly pride and her queenly

dignity had both been so cruelly offended that she could not come

round at the first advance; but, overpersuaded by the advice of

her women, she at last had the appearance of beginning to forget.

The king took advantage of this favorable moment to tell her that

her had the intention of shortly giving a fete.

A fete was so rare a thing for poor Anne of Austria that at this

announcement, as the cardinal had predicted, the last trace of

her resentment disappeared, if not from her heart at least from

her countenance. She asked upon what day this fete would take

place, but the king replied that he must consult the cardinal

upon that head.

Indeed, every day the king asked the cardinal when this fete

should take place; and every day the cardinal, under some

pretext, deferred fixing it. Ten days passed away thus.

On the eighth day after the scene we have described, the cardinal

received a letter with the London stamp which only contained

these lines: "I have them; but I am unable to leave London for

want of money. Send me five hundred pistoles, and four or five

days after I have received them I shall be in Paris."

On the same day the cardinal received this letter the king put

his customary question to him.

Richelieu counted on his fingers, and said to himself, "She will

arrive, she says, four or five days after having received the

money. It will require four or five days for the transmission of

the money, four or five days for her to return; that makes ten

days. Now, allowing for contrary winds, accidents, and a woman`s

weakness, there are twelve days."

"Well, Monsieur Duke," said the king, "have you made your

calculations?"

"Yes, sire. Today is the twentieth of September. The aldermen

of the city give a fete on the third of October. That will fall

in wonderfully well; you will not appear to have gone out of your

way to please the queen."

Then the cardinal added, "A PROPOS, sire, do not forget to tell

her Majesty the evening before the fete that you should like to

see how her diamond studs become her."

17 BONACIEUX AT HOME

It was the second time the cardinal had mentioned these diamond

studs to the king. Louis XIII was struck with this insistence,

and began to fancy that this recommendation concealed some

mystery.

More than once the king had been humiliated by the cardinal,

whose police, without having yet attained the perfection of the

modern police, were excellent, being better informed than

himself, even upon what was going on in his own household. He

hoped, then, in a conversation with Anne of Austria, to obtain

some information from that conversation, and afterward to come

upon his Eminence with some secret which the cardinal either knew

or did not know, but which, in either case, would raise him

infinitely in the eyes of his minister.

He went then to the queen, and according to custom accosted her

with fresh menaces against those who surrounded her. Anne of

Austria lowered her head, allowed the torrent to flow on without

replying, hoping that it would cease of itself; but this was not

what Louis XIII meant. Louis XIII wanted a discussion from which

some light or other might break, convinced as he was that the

cardinal had some afterthought and was preparing for him one of

those terrible surprises which his Eminence was so skillful in

getting up. He arrived at this end by his persistence in

accusation.

"But," cried Anne of Austria, tired of these vague attacks, "but,

sire, you do not tell me all that you have in your heart. What

have I done, then? Let me know what crime I have committed. It

is impossible that your Majesty can make all this ado about a

letter written to my brother."

The king, attacked in a manner so direct, did not know what to

answer; and he thought that this was the moment for expressing

the desire which he was not have made until the evening before

the fete.

"Madame," said he, with dignity, "there will shortly be a ball at

the Hotel de Ville. I wish, in order to honor our worthy

aldermen, you should appear in ceremonial costume, and above all,

ornamented with the diamond studs which I gave you on your

birthday. That is my answer."

The answer was terrible. Anne of Austria believed that Louis

XIII knew all, and that the cardinal had persuaded him to employ

this long dissimulation of seven or eight days, which, likewise,

was characteristic. She became excessively pale, leaned her

beautiful hand upon a CONSOLE, which hand appeared then like one

of wax, and looking at the king with terror in her eyes, she was

unable to reply by a single syllable.

"You hear, madame," said the king, who enjoyed the embarrassment

to its full extent, but without guessing the cause. "You hear,

madame?"

"Yes, sire, I hear," stammered the queen.

"You will appear at this ball?"

"Yes."

"With those studs?"

"Yes."

The queen`s paleness, if possible, increased; the king perceived

it, and enjoyed it with that cold cruelty which was one of the

worst sides of his character.

"Then that is agreed," said the king, "and that is all I had to

say to you."

"But on what day will this ball take place?" asked Anne of

Austria.

Louis XIII felt instinctively that he ought not to reply to this

question, the queen having put it in an almost dying voice.

"Oh, very shortly, madame," said he; "but I do not precisely

recollect the date of the day. I will ask the cardinal."

"It was the cardinal, then, who informed you of this fete?"

"Yes, madame," replied the astonished king; "but why do you ask

that?"

"It was he who told you to invite me to appear with these studs?"

"That is to say, madame--"

"It was he, sire, it was he!"

"Well, and what does it signify whether it was he or I? Is there

any crime in this request?"

"No, sire."

"Then you will appear?"

"Yes, sire."

"That is well," said the king, retiring, "that is well; I count

upon it."

The queen made a curtsy, less from etiquette than because her

knees were sinking under her. The king went away enchanted.

"I am lost," murmured the queen, "lost!--for the cardinal knows

all, and it is he who urges on the king, who as yet knows nothing

but will soon know everything. I am lost! My God, my God, my

God!"

She knelt upon a cushion and prayed, with her head buried between

her palpitating arms.

In fact, her position was terrible. Buckingham had returned to

London; Mme. Chevreuse was at Tours. More closely watched than

ever, the queen felt certain, without knowing how to tell which,

that one of her women had betrayed her. Laporte could not leave

the Louvre; she had not a soul in the world in whom she could

confide. Thus, while contemplating the misfortune which

threatened her and the abandonment in which she was left, she

broke out into sobs and tears.

"Can I be of service to your Majesty?" said all at once a voice

full of sweetness and pity.

The queen turned sharply round, for there could be no deception

in the expression of that voice; it was a friend who spoke thus.

In fact, at one of the doors which opened into the queen`s

apartment appeared the pretty Mme. Bonacieux. She had been

engaged in arranging the dresses and linen in a closet when the

king entered; she could not get out and had heard all.

The queen uttered a piercing cry at finding herself surprised--

for in her trouble she did not at first recognize the young woman

who had been given to her by Laporte.

"Oh, fear nothing, madame!" said the young woman, clasping her

hands and weeping herself at the queen`s sorrows; "I am your

Majesty`s, body and soul, and however far I may be from you,

however inferior may be my position, I believe I have discovered

a means of extricating your Majesty from your trouble."

"You, oh, heaven, you!" cried the queen; "but look me in the

face. I am betrayed on all sides. Can I trust in you?"

"Oh, madame!" cried the young woman, falling on her knees; "upon

my soul, I am ready to die for your Majesty!"

This expression sprang from the very bottom of the heart, and,

like the first, there was no mistaking it.

"Yes," continued Mme. Bonacieux, "yes, there are traitors here;

but by the holy name of the Virgin, I swear that no one is more

devoted to your Majesty than I am. Those studs which the king

speaks of, you gave them to the Duke of Buckingham, did you not?

Those studs were enclosed in a little rosewood box which he held

under his arm? Am I deceived? Is it not so, madame?"

"Oh, my God, my God!" murmured the queen, whose teeth chattered

with fright.

"Well, those studs," continued Mme. Bonacieux, "we must have them

back again."

"Yes, without doubt, it is necessary," cried the queen; "but how

am I to act? How can it be effected?"

"Someone must be sent to the duke."

"But who, who? In whom can I trust?"

"Place confidence in me, madame; do me that honor, my queen, and

I will find a messenger."

"But I must write."

"Oh, yes; that is indispensable. Two words from the hand of your

Majesty and your private seal."

"But these two words would bring about my condemnation, divorce,

exile!"

"Yes, if they fell into infamous hands. But I will answer for

these two words being delivered to their address."

"Oh, my God! I must then place my life, my honor, my reputation,

in your hands?"

"Yes, yes, madame, you must; and I will save them all."

"But how? Tell me at least the means."

"My husband had been at liberty these two or three days. I have

not yet had time to see him again. He is a worthy, honest man

who entertains neither love nor hatred for anybody. He will do

anything I wish. He will set out upon receiving an order from

me, without knowing what he carries, and he will carry your

Majesty`s letter, without even knowing it is from your Majesty,

to the address which is on it."

The queen took the two hands of the young woman with a burst of

emotion, gazed at her as if to read her very heart, and seeing

nothing but sincerity in her beautiful eyes, embraced her

tenderly.

"Do that," cried she, "and you will have saved my life, you will

have saved my honor!"

"Do not exaggerate the service I have the happiness to render

your Majesty. I have nothing to save for your Majesty; you are

only the victim of perfidious plots."

"That is true, that is true, my child," said the queen, "you are

right."

"Give me then, that letter, madame; time presses."

The queen ran to a little table, on which were ink, paper, and

pens. She wrote two lines, sealed the letter with her private

seal, and gave it to Mme. Bonacieux.

"And now," said the queen, "we are forgetting one very necessary

thing."

"What is that, madame?"

"Money."

Mme. Bonacieux blushed.

"Yes, that is true," said she, "and I will confess to your

Majesty that my husband--"

"Your husband has none. Is that what you would say?"

"He has some, but he is very avaricious; that is his fault.

Nevertheless, let not your Majesty be uneasy, we will find

means."

"And I have none, either," said the queen. Those who have read

the MEMOIRS of Mme. de Motteville will not be astonished at this

reply. "But wait a minute."

Anne of Austria ran to her jewel case.

"Here," said she, "here is a ring of great value, as I have been

assured. It came from my brother, the King of Spain. It is

mine, and I am at liberty to dispose of it. Take this ring;

raise money with it, and let your husband set out."

"In an hour you shall be obeyed."

"You see the address," said the queen, speaking so low that Mme.

Bonacieux could hardly hear what she said, "To my Lord Duke of

Buckingham, London."

"The letter shall be given to himself."

"Generous girl!" cried Anne of Austria.

Mme. Bonacieux kissed the hands of the queen, concealed the paper

in the bosom of her dress, and disappeared with the lightness of

a bird.

Ten minutes afterward she was at home. As she told the queen,

she had not seen her husband since his liberation; she was

ignorant of the change that had taken place in him with respect

to the cardinal--a change which had since been strengthened by

two or three visits from the Comte de Rochefort, who had become

the best friend of Bonacieux, and had persuaded him, without much

trouble, order in his house, the furniture of which he had found

mostly broken and his closets nearly empty--justice not being one

of the three things which King Solomon names as leaving no traces

of their passage. As to the servant, she had run away at the

moment of her master`s arrest. Terror had had such an effect

upon the poor girl that she had never ceased walking from Paris

till she reached Burgundy, her native place.

The worthy mercer had, immediately upon re-entering his house,

informed his wife of his happy return, and his wife had replied

by congratulating him, and telling him that the first moment she

could steal from her duties should be devoted to paying him a

visit.

This first moment had been delayed five days, which, under any

other circumstances, might have appeared rather long to M.

Bonacieux; but he had, in the visit he had made to the cardinal

and in the visits Rochefort had made him, ample subjects for

reflection, and as everybody knows, nothing makes time pass more

quickly than reflection.

This was the more so because Bonacieux`s reflections were all

rose-colored. Rochefort called him his friend, his dear

Bonacieux, and never ceased telling him that the cardinal had a

great respect for him. The mercer fancied himself already on the

high road to honors and fortune.

On her side Mme. Bonacieux had also reflected; but, it must be

admitted, upon something widely different from ambition. In

spite of herself her thoughts constantly reverted to that

handsome young man who was so brave and appeared to be so much in

love. Married at eighteen to Mme. Bonacieux, having always lived

among her husband`s friends--people little capable of inspiring

any sentiment whatever in a young woman whose heart was above her

position--Mme. Bonacieux had remained insensible to vulgar

seductions; but at this period the title of gentleman had great

influence with the citizen class, and D`Artagnan was a gentleman.

Besides, he wore the uniform of the Guards, which next to that of

the Musketeers was most admired by the ladies. He was, we

repeat, handsome, young, and bold; he spoke of love like a man

who did love and was anxious to be loved in return. There was

certainly enough in all this to turn a head only twenty-three

years old, and Mme. Bonacieux had just attained that happy period

of life.

The couple, then, although they had not seen each other for eight

days, and during that time serious events had taken place in

which both were concerned, accosted each other with a degree of

preoccupation. Nevertheless, Bonacieux manifested real joy, and

advanced toward his wife with open arms. Madame Bonacieux

presented her cheek to him.

"Let us talk a little," said she.

"How!" said Bonacieux, astonished.

"Yes, I have something of the highest importance to tell you."

"True," said he, "and I have some questions sufficiently serious

to put to you. Describe to me your abduction, I pray you."

"Oh, that`s of no consequence just now," said Mme. Bonacieux.

"And what does it concern, then--my captivity?"

"I heard of it the day it happened; but as you were not guilty of

any crime, as you were not guilty of any intrigue, as you, in

short, knew nothing that could compromise yourself or anybody

else, I attached no more importance to that event than it

merited."

"You speak very much at your ease, madame," said Bonacieux, hurt

at the little interest his wife showed in him. "Do you know that

I was plunged during a day and night in a dungeon of the

Bastille?"

"Oh, a day and night soon pass away. Let us return to the object

that brings me here."

"What, that which brings you home to me? Is it not the desire of

seeing a husband again from whom you have been separated for a

week?" asked the mercer, piqued to the quick.

"Yes, that first, and other things afterward."

"Speak."

"It is a thing of the highest interest, and upon which our future

fortune perhaps depends."

"The complexion of our fortune has changed very much since I saw

you, Madam Bonacieux, and I should not be astonished if in the

course of a few months it were to excite the envy of many folks."

"Yes, particularly if you follow the instructions I am about to

give you."

"Me?"

"Yes, you. There is good and holy action to be performed,

monsieur, and much money to be gained at the same time."

Mme. Bonacieux knew that in talking of money to her husband, she

took him on his weak side. But a man, were he even a mercer,

when he had talked for ten minutes with Cardinal Richelieu, is no

longer the same man.

"Much money to be gained?" said Bonacieux, protruding his lip.

"Yes, much."

"About how much?"

"A thousand pistoles, perhaps."

"What you demand of me is serious, then?"

"It is indeed."

"What must be done?"

"You must go away immediately. I will give you a paper which you

must not part with on any account, and which you will deliver

into the proper hands."

"And whither am I to go?"

"To London."

"I go to London? Go to! You jest! I have no business in

London."

"But others wish that you should go there."

"But who are those others? I warn you that I will never again

work in the dark, and that I will know not only to what I expose

myself, but for whom I expose myself."

"An illustrious persons sends you; an illustrious person awaits

you. The recompense will exceed your expectations; that is all I

promise you."

"More intrigues! Nothing but intrigues! Thank you, madame, I am

aware of them now; Monsieur Cardinal has enlightened me on that

head."

"The cardinal?" cried Mme. Bonacieux. "Have you seen the

cardinal?"

"He sent for me," answered the mercer, proudly.

"And you responded to his bidding, you imprudent man?"

"Well, I can`t say I had much choice of going or not going, for I

was taken to him between two guards. It is true also, that as I

did not then know his Eminence, if I had been able to dispense

with the visit, I should have been enchanted."

"He ill-treated you, then; he threatened you?"

"He gave me his hand, and called me his friend. His friend! Do

you hear that, madame? I am the friend of the great cardinal!"

"Of the great cardinal!"

"Perhaps you would contest his right to that title, madame?"

"I would contest nothing; but I tell you that the favor of a

minister is ephemeral, and that a man must be mad to attach

himself to a minister. There are powers above his which do not

depend upon a man or the issue of an event; it is to these powers

we should rally."

"I am sorry for it, madame, but I acknowledge not her power but

that of the great man whom I have the honor to serve."

"You serve the cardinal?"

"Yes, madame; and as his servant, I will not allow you to be

concerned in plots against the safety of the state, or to serve

the intrigues of a woman who in not French and who has a Spanish

heart. Fortunately we have the great cardinal; his vigilant eye

watches over and penetrates to the bottom of the heart."

Bonacieux was repeating, word for word, a sentence which he had

heard from the Comte de Rochefort; but the poor wife, who had

reckoned on her husband, and who, in that hope, had answered for

him to the queen, did not tremble the less, both at the danger

into which she had nearly cast herself and at the helpless state

to which she was reduced. Nevertheless, knowing the weakness of

her husband, and more particularly his cupidity, she did not

despair of bringing him round to her purpose.

"Ah, you are a cardinalist, then, monsieur, are you?" cried she;

"and you serve the party of those who maltreat your wife and

insult your queen?"

"Private interests are as nothing before the interests of all. I

am for those who save the state," said Bonacieux, emphatically.

"And what do you know about the state you talk of?" said Mme.

Bonacieux, shrugging her shoulders. "Be satisfied with being a

plain, straightforward citizen, and turn to that side which

offers the most advantages."

"Eh, eh!" said Bonacieux, slapping a plump, round bag, which

returned a sound a money; "what do you think of this, Madame

Preacher?"

"Whence comes that money?"

"You do not guess?"

"From the cardinal?"

"From him, and from my friend the Comte de Rochefort."

"The Comte de Rochefort! Why it was he who carried me off!"

"That may be, madame!"

"And you receive silver from that man?"

"Have you not said that that abduction was entirely political?"

"Yes; but that abduction had for its object the betrayal of my

mistress, to draw from me by torture confessions that might

compromise the honor, and perhaps the life, of my august

mistress."

"Madame," replied Bonacieux, "your august mistress is a

perfidious Spaniard, and what the cardinal does is well done."

"Monsieur," said the young woman, "I know you to be cowardly,

avaricious, and foolish, but I never till now believed you

infamous!"

"Madame," said Bonacieux, who had never seen his wife in a

passion, and who recoiled before this conjugal anger, "madame,

what do you say?"

"I say you are a miserable creature!" continued Mme. Bonacieux,

who saw she was regaining some little influence over her husband.

"You meddle with politics, do you--and still more, with

cardinalist politics? Why, you sell yourself, body and soul, to

the demon, the devil, for money!"

"No, to the cardinal."

"It`s the same thing," cried the young woman. "Who calls

Richelieu calls Satan."

"Hold your tongue, hold your tongue, madame! You may be

overheard."

"Yes, you are right; I should be ashamed for anyone to know your

baseness."

"But what do you require of me, then? Let us see."

"I have told you. You must depart instantly, monsieur. You must

accomplish loyally the commission with which I deign to charge

you, and on that condition I pardon everything, I forget

everything; and what is more," and she geld out her hand to him,

"I restore my love."

Bonacieux was cowardly and avaricious, but he loved his wife. He

was softened. A man of fifty cannot long bear malice with a wife

of twenty-three. Mme. Bonacieux saw that he hesitated.

"Come! Have you decided?" said she.

"But, my dear love, reflect a little upon what you require of me.

London is far from Paris, very far, and perhaps the commission

with which you charge me is not without dangers?"

"What matters it, if you avoid them?"

"Hold, Madame Bonacieux," said the mercer, "hold! I positively

refuse; intrigues terrify me. I have seen the Bastille. My!

Whew! That`s a frightful place, that Bastille! Only to think of

it makes my flesh crawl. They threatened me with torture. Do

you know what torture is? Wooden points that they stick in

between your legs till your bones stick out! No, positively I

will not go. And, MORBLEU, why do you not go yourself? For in

truth, I think I have hitherto been deceived in you. I really

believe you are a man, and a violent one, too."

"And you, you are a woman--a miserable woman, stupid and brutal.

You are afraid, are you? Well, if you do not go this very

instant, I will have you arrested by the queen`s orders, and I

will have you placed in the Bastille which you dread so much."

Bonacieux fell into a profound reflection. He weighed the two

angers in his brain--that of the cardinal and that of the queen;

that of the cardinal predominated enormously.

"Have me arrested on the part of the queen," said he, "and I--I

will appeal to his Eminence.

At once Mme. Bonacieux saw that she had gone too far, and she was

terrified at having communicated so much. She for a moment

contemplated with fright that stupid countenance, impressed with

the invincible resolution of a fool that is overcome by fear.

"Well, be it so!" said she. "Perhaps, when all is considered,

you are right. In the long run, a man knows more about politics

than a woman, particularly such as, like you, Monsieur Bonacieux,

have conversed with the cardinal. And yet it is very hard,"

added she, "that a man upon whose affection I thought I might

depend, treats me thus unkindly and will not comply with any of

my fancies."

"That is because your fancies go too far," replied the triumphant

Bonacieux, "and I mistrust them."

`Well, I will give it up, then," said the young woman, sighing.

"It is well as it is; say no more about it."

"At least you should tell me what I should have to do in London,"

replied Bonacieux, who remembered a little too late that

Rochefort had desired him to endeavor to obtain his wife`s

secrets.

"It is of no use for you to know anything about it," said the

young woman, whom an instinctive mistrust now impelled to draw

back. "It was about one of those purchases that interest women--

a purchase by which much might have been gained."

But the more the young woman excused herself, the more important

Bonacieux thought the secret which she declined to confide to

him. He resolved then to hasten immediately to the residence of

the Comte de Rochefort, and tell him that the queen was seeking

for a messenger to send to London.

"Pardon me for quitting you, my dear Madame Bonacieux," said he;

"but, not knowing you would come to see me, I had made an

engagement with a friend. I shall soon return; and if you will

wait only a few minutes for me, as soon as I have concluded my

business with that friend, as it is growing late, I will come

back and reconduct you to the Louvre."

"Thank you, monsieur, you are not brave enough to be of any use

to me whatever," replied Mme. Bonacieux. "I shall return very

safely to the Louvre all alone."

"As you please, Madame Bonacieux," said the ex-mercer. "Shall I

see you again soon?"

"Next week I hope my duties will afford me a little liberty, and

I will take advantage of it to come and put things in order here,

so they must necessarily be much deranged."

"Very well; I shall expect you. You are not angry with me?"

"Not the least in the world."

"Tell then, then?"

"Till then."

Bonacieux kissed his wife`s hand, and set off at a quick pace.

"Well," said Mme. Bonacieux, when her husband had shut the street

door and she found herself alone; "that imbecile lacked but one

thing to become a cardinalist. And I, who have answered for him

to the queen--I, who have promised my poor mistress--ah, my God,

my God! She will take me for one of those wretches with whom the

palace swarms and who are placed about her as spies! Ah,

Monsieur Bonacieux, I never did love you much, but now it is

worse than ever. I hate you, and on my word you shall pay for

this!"

At the moment she spoke these words a rap on the ceiling made her

raise her head, and a voice which reached her through the ceiling

cried, "Dear Madame Bonacieux, open for me the little door on the

alley, and I will come down to you."

Date: 2015-01-29; view: 804