Philippe obeyed, and it seemed to him that the cloud which hung over him dispersed. "Oh, I revive!" he cried.

"And you feel free and strong?"

"Yes."

"With your full powers and memory of the past?"

"Yes."

"Then this memory gives me an advantage over you."

"No," said Philippe, "for I acted in defense of a vital and sacred principle."

"What do you mean?"

"I defended the monarchy."

"You defended the monarchy!—you, who went to America to defend a republic. Ah, mon Dieu! be frank; it is not the monarchy you defend."

Philippe colored.

"To love those who disdain you," continued Cagliostro, "who deceive and forget you, is the attribute of great souls. It is the law of the Scriptures to return good for evil. You are a Christian, M. de Taverney."

"Monsieur," cried Philippe, "not a word more; if I did not defend the monarchy, I defended the queen, that is to say, an innocent woman, and to be respected even if she were not so, for it is a divine law not to attack the weak."

"The weak! the queen—you call a feeble being her to whom twenty-eight million human beings bow the knee!"

"Monsieur, they calumniate her."

"How do you know?"

"I believe it."

"Well, I believe the contrary; we have each the right to think as we please."

"But you act like an evil genius."

"Who tells you so?" cried Cagliostro, with sparkling eyes. "How, have you the temerity to assume that you are right, and that I am wrong? You defend royalty; well, I defend the people. You say, render to Caesar the things which are Caesar's; and I say, render to God the things that are God's. Republican of America, I recall you to the love of the people, to the love of equality. You trample on the people to kiss the hands of a queen; I would throw down a queen to elevate a people. I do not disturb you in your adoration; leave me in peace at my work. You say to me, die, for you have offended the object of my worship; and I say to you, who combat mine, live, for I feel myself so strong in my principles, that neither you nor any one else can retard my progress for an instant."

"Sir, you frighten me," said Philippe; "you show me the danger in which our monarchy is."

"Then be prudent, and shun the opening gulf."

"You know," replied Philippe, "that I would sooner entomb myself in it, than see those whom I defend in danger."

"Well, I have warned you."

"And I," said Philippe, "I, who am but a feeble individual, will use against you the arms of the weak. I implore you, with tearful eyes and joined hands, to be merciful towards those whom you pursue. I ask you to spare me the remorse of knowing you were acting against this poor queen, and not preventing you. I beg you to destroy this publication, which would make a woman shed tears. I ask you, by the love which you have guessed, or I swear that with this sword, which has proved so powerless against you, I will pierce myself before your eyes!"

"Ah!" murmured Cagliostro, "why are they not all like you? Then I would join them, and they should not perish."

"Monsieur, monsieur, I pray you to reply to me!"

"See, then," said Cagliostro, "if all the thousand numbers be there, and burn them yourself."

Philippe ran to the cabinet, took them out, and threw them on the fire. "Adieu, monsieur!" then he said; "a hundred thanks for the favor you have granted me."

"I owed the brother," said Cagliostro, when he had gone, "some compensation for all I made the sister endure."

Then he called for his carriage.



CHAPTER XXXIII.

THE HEAD OF THE TAVERNEY FAMILY.

While this was passing in the Rue St. Gilles, the elder M. Taverney was walking in his garden, followed by two footmen, who carried a chair, with which they approached him every five minutes, that he might rest. While doing so, a servant came to announce the chevalier.

"My son," said the old man, "come, Philippe, you arrive apropos—my heart is full of happy thoughts; but how solemn you look!"

"Do I, sir?"

"You know already the results of that affair?"

"What affair?"

The old man looked to see that no one was listening, then said, "I speak of the ball."

"I do not understand."

"Oh, the ball at the Opera."

Philippe colored.

"Sit down," continued his father; "I want to talk to you. It seems that you, so timid and delicate at first, now compromise her too much."

"Whom do you mean, sir?"

"Pardieu! do you think I am ignorant of your escapade, both together at the Opera ball? It was pretty."

"Sir, I protest——"

"Oh, do not be angry; I only mean to warn you for your good. You are not careful enough; you were seen there with her."

"I was seen?"

"Pardieu! had you, or not, a blue domino?"

Philippe was about to explain that he had not, and did not know what his father meant, but he thought to himself, "It is of no use to explain to him; he never believes me. Besides, I wish to learn more."

"You see," continued the old man, triumphantly, "you were recognized. Indeed, M. de Richelieu, who was at the ball in spite of his eighty-four years, wondered who the blue domino could be with whom the queen was walking, and he could only suspect you, for he knew all the others."

"And pray how does he say he recognized the queen?"

"Not very difficult, when she took her mask off. Such audacity as that surpasses all imagination; she must really be mad about you. But take care, chevalier; you have jealous rivals to fear; it is an envied post to be favorite of the queen, when the queen is the real king. Pardon my moralizing, but I do not wish that the breath of chance should blow down what you have reared so skilfully."

Philippe rose; the conversation was hateful to him, but a kind of savage curiosity impelled him to hear everything.

"We are already envied," continued the old man; "that is natural, but we have not yet attained the height to which we shall rise. To you will belong the glory of raising our name; and now you are progressing so well, only be prudent, or you will fail after all. Soon, however, you must ask for some high post, and obtain for me a lord-lieutenancy not too far from Paris. Then you can have a peerage, and become a duke and lieutenant-general. In two years, if I am still alive——"

"Enough, enough!" groaned Philippe.

"Oh, if you are satisfied with that, I am not. You have a whole life before you; I, perhaps, only a few months. However, I do not complain; God gave me two children, and if my daughter has been useless in repairing our fortunes, you will make up for it. I see in you the great Taverney, and you inspire me with respect, for your conduct has been admirable; you show no jealousy, but leave the field apparently open to every one, while you really hold it alone."

"I do not understand you," replied Philippe.

"Oh, no modesty; it was exactly the conduct of M. Potemkin, who astonished the world with his fortunes. He saw that Catherine loved variety in her amours; that, if left free, she would fly from flower to flower, returning always to the sweetest and most beautiful; but that, if pursued, she would fly right away. He took his part, therefore; he even introduced new favorites to his sovereign, to weary her out with their number; but through and after the quickly succeeding reigns of the twelve Caesars, as they were ironically called, Potemkin in reality was supreme."

"What incomprehensible infamies!" murmured poor Philippe. But the old man went on:

"According to his system, however, you have been still a little wrong. He never abandoned his surveillance, and you are too lax in this."

Philippe replied only by shrugging his shoulders. He really began to think his father was crazy.

"Ah! you thought I did not see your game. You are already providing a successor, for you have divined that there is no stability in the queen's amours, and in the event of her changing, you wish not to be quite thrown aside; therefore you make friends with M. de Charny, who might otherwise, when his turn comes, exile you, as you now might MM. de Coigny, Vaudreuil, and others."

Philippe, with an angry flush, said:

"Once more, enough; I am ashamed to have listened so long. Those who say that the Queen of France is a Messalina are criminal calumniators."

"I tell you," said the old man, "no one can hear, and I approve your plan. M. de Charny will repay your kindness some day."

"Your logic is admirable, sir; and M. de Charny is so much my favorite that I have just passed my sword through his ribs."

"What!" cried the old man, somewhat frightened at his son's flashing eyes, "you have not been fighting?"

"Yes, sir; that is my method of conciliating my successors. And he turned to go away.

"Philippe, you jest."

"I do not, sir."

The old man rose, and tottered off to the house.

"Quick," said he to the servant; "let a man on horseback go at once and ask after M. de Charny, who has been wounded, and let him be sure to say he comes from me." Then he murmured to himself, "Mine is still the only head in the family."



CHAPTER XXXIV.

THE STANZAS OF M. DE PROVENCE.

While these events were passing in Paris and in Versailles, the king, tranquil as usual, sat in his study, surrounded by maps and plans, and traced new paths for the vessels of La Perouse.

A slight knock at his door roused him from his study, and a voice said, "May I come in, brother?"

"The Comte de Provence," growled the king, discontentedly. "Enter."

A short person came in.

"You did not expect me, brother?" he said.

"No, indeed."

"Do I disturb you?"

"Have you anything particular to say?"

"Such a strange report——"

"Oh, some scandal?"

"Yes, brother."

"Which has amused you?"

"Because it is so strange."

"Something against me?"

"Should I laugh if it were?"

"Then against the queen?"

"Sire, imagine that I was told quite seriously that the queen slept out the other night."

"That would be very sad if it were true," replied the king.

"But it is not true, is it?"

"No."

"Nor that the queen was seen waiting outside the gate at the reservoirs?"

"No."

"The day, you know, that you ordered the gates to be shut at eleven o'clock?"

"I do not remember."

"Well, brother, they pretend that the queen was seen arm-in-arm with M. d'Artois at half-past twelve that night."

"Where?"

"Going to a house which he possesses behind the stables. Has not your majesty heard this report?"

"Yes, you took care of that."

"How, sire?—what have I done?"

"Some verses which were printed in the Mercury."

"Some verses!" said the count, growing red.

"Oh, yes; you are a favorite of the Muses."

"Not I, sire."

"Oh, do not deny it; I have the manuscript in your writing! Now, if you had informed yourself of what the queen really did that day, instead of writing these lines against her, and consequently against me, you would have written an ode in her favor. Perhaps the subject does not inspire you; but I should have liked a bad ode better than a good satire."

"Sire, you overwhelm me; but I trust you will believe I was deceived, and did not mean harm."

"Perhaps."

"Besides, I did not say I believed it; and then, a few verses are nothing. Now, a pamphlet like one I have just seen——"

"A pamphlet?"

"Yes, sire; and I want an order for the Bastile for the author of it."

The king rose. "Let me see it," he said.

"I do not know if I ought."

"Certainly you ought. Have you got it with you?"

"Yes, sire;" and he drew from his pocket "The History of the Queen Etteniotna," one of the fatal numbers which had escaped from Philippe and Charny.

The king glanced over it rapidly. "Infamous!" he cried.

"You see, sire, they pretend the queen went to M. Mesmer's."

"Well, she did go."

"She went?"

"Authorized by me."

"Oh, sire!"

"That is nothing against her; I gave my consent."

"Did your majesty intend that she should experimentalize on herself?"

The king stamped with rage as the count said this; he was reading one of the most insulting passages—the history of her contortions, voluptuous disorder, and the attention she had excited.

"Impossible!" he cried, growing pale; and he rang the bell. "Oh, the police shall deal with this! Fetch M. de Crosne."

"Sire, it is his day for coming here, and he is now waiting."

"Let him come in."

"Shall I go, brother?" said the count.

"No; remain. If the queen be guilty, you are one of the family, and must know it; if innocent, you, who have suspected her, must hear it."

M. de Crosne entered, and bowed, saying, "The report is ready, sire."

"First, sir," said the king, "explain how you allow such infamous publications against the queen."

"Etteniotna?" asked M. de Crosne.

"Yes."

"Well, sire, it is a man called Reteau."

"You know his name, and have not arrested him!"

"Sire, nothing is more easy. I have an order already prepared in my portfolio."

"Then why is it not done?"

M. de Crosne looked at the count.

"I see, M. de Crosne wishes me to leave," said he.

"No," replied the king, "remain. And you, M. de Crosne, speak freely."

"Well, sire, I wished first to consult your majesty whether you would not rather give him some money, and send him away to be hanged elsewhere."

"Why?"

"Because, sire, if these men tell lies, the people are glad enough to see them whipped, or even hanged; but if they chance upon a truth——"

"A truth! It is true that the queen went to M. Mesmer's, but I gave her permission."

"Oh, sire!" cried M. de Crosne.

His tone of sincerity struck the king more than anything M. de Provence had said; and he answered, "I suppose, sir, that was no harm."

"No, sire; but her majesty has compromised herself."

"M. de Crosne, what have your police told you?"

"Sire, many things, which, with all possible respect for her majesty, agree in many points with this pamphlet."

"Let me hear."

"That the queen went in a common dress, in the middle of this crowd, and alone."

"Alone!" cried the king.

"Yes, sire."

"You are deceived, M. de Crosne."

"I do not think so, sire."

"You have bad reporters, sir."

"So exact, that I can give your majesty a description of her dress, of all her movements, of her cries——"

"Her cries!"

"Even her sighs were observed, sire."

"It is impossible she could have so far forgotten what is due to me and to herself."

"Oh, yes," said the Comte de Provence; "her majesty is surely incapable——"

Louis XVI. interrupted him. "Sir," said he, to M. de Crosne, "you maintain what you have said?"

"Unhappily, yes, sire."

"I will examine into it further," said the king, passing his handkerchief over his forehead, on which the drops hung from anxiety and vexation. "I did permit the queen to go, but I ordered her to take with her a person safe, irreproachable, and even holy."

"Ah," said M. de Crosne, "if she had but done so——"

"Yes," said the count; "if a lady like Madame de Lamballe for instance——"

"It was precisely she whom the queen promised to take."

"Unhappily, sire, she did not do so."

"Well," said the king, with agitation; "if she has disobeyed me so openly I ought to punish, and I will punish; only some doubts still remain on my mind; these doubts you do not share; that is natural; you are not the king, husband, and friend of her whom they accuse. However, I will proceed to clear the affair up." He rang. "Let some one see," said he to the person who came, "where Madame de Lamballe is."

"Sire, she is walking in the garden with her majesty and another lady."

"Beg her to come to me. Now, gentlemen, in ten minutes we shall know the truth."

All were silent.

M. de Crosne was really sad, and the count put on an affectation of it which might have solemnized Momus himself.



CHAPTER XXXV.

THE PRINCESS DE LAMBALLE.

The Princesse de Lamballe entered beautiful and calm. Her hair drawn back from her noble forehead, her dark penciled eyebrows, her clear blue eyes and beautiful lips, and her unrivaled figure, formed a lovely tout ensemble. She seemed always surrounded by an atmosphere of virtue and grace.

The king looked at her with a troubled expression, dreading what he was about to hear; then bowing, said, "Sit down, princess."

"What does your majesty desire?" asked she, in a sweet voice.

"Some information, princess: what day did you last go with the queen to Paris?"

"Wednesday, sire."

"Pardon me, cousin," said Louis XVI.; "but I wish to know the exact truth."

"You will never hear anything else from me, sire."

"What did you go there for?"

"I went to M. Mesmer's, Place Vendome."

The two witnesses trembled. The king colored with delight.

"Alone?" asked the king.

"No, sire; with the queen."

"With the queen?" cried Louis, seizing her hand.

"Yes, sire."

M. de Provence and M. de Crosne looked stupefied.

"Your majesty had authorized the queen to go; at least, so she told me," continued the princess.

"It was true, cousin: gentlemen, I breathe again; Madame de Lamballe never tells a falsehood."

"Never, sire."

"Oh, never, sire," said M. de Crosne, with perfect sincerity. "But will you permit me, sire?"

"Certainly, monsieur; question, search as much as you please; I place the princess at your disposal."

Madame de Lamballe smiled. "I am ready," she said.

"Madame," said the lieutenant of police, "have the goodness to tell his majesty what you did there, and how the queen was dressed."

"She had on a dress of gray taffeta, a mantle of embroidered muslin, an ermine muff, and a rose-colored velvet bonnet, trimmed with black."

M. de Crosne looked astonished. It was a totally different dress from that which he had had described to him. The Comte de Provence bit his lips with vexation, and the king rubbed his hands.

"What did you do on entering?" asked he.

"Sire, you are right to say on entering, for we had hardly entered the room——"

"Together?"

"Yes, sire; and we could scarcely have been seen, for every one was occupied with the experiments going on, when a lady approached the queen, and, offering her a mask, implored her to turn back."

"And you stopped?"

"Yes, sire."

"You never went through the rooms?" asked M. de Crosne.

"No, monsieur."

"And you never quitted the queen?" asked the king.

"Not for a moment, sire. Her majesty never left my arm."

"Now!" cried the king, "what do you say, M. de Crosne? and you, brother?"

"It is extraordinary, quite supernatural," said the count, who affected a gaiety which could not conceal his disappointment.

"There is nothing supernatural," said M. de Crosne, who felt real remorse: "what Madame de Lamballe says is undoubtedly true; therefore my informants must have been mistaken."

"Do you speak seriously, sir?" asked the count.

"Perfectly, monseigneur. Her majesty did what Madame de Lamballe states, and nothing more, I feel convinced; my agents were, somehow or other, deceived. As for this journalist, I will immediately send the order for his imprisonment."

Madame de Lamballe looked from one to the other with an expression of innocent curiosity.

"One moment," said the king; "you spoke of a lady who came to stop you; tell us who she was?"

"Her majesty seemed to know her, sire."

"Because, cousin, I must speak to this person; then we shall learn the key to this mystery."

"That is my opinion also, sire," said M. de Crosne.

"Did the queen tell you that she knew this person?" said the count.

"She told me so, monseigneur."

"My brother means to say that you probably know her name."

"Madame de la Motte Valois."

"That intriguer!" cried the king.

"Diable!" said the count; "she will be difficult to interrogate: she is cunning."

"We will be as cunning as she," said M. de Crosne.

"I do not like such people about the queen," said Louis; "she is so good that all the beggars crowd round her."

"Madame de la Motte is a true Valois," said the princess.

"However that may be, I will not see her here. I prefer depriving myself of the pleasure of hearing the queen's innocence confirmed, to doing that."

"But you must see her, sire," said the queen, entering at that moment, pale with anger, beautiful with a noble indignation. "It is not now for you to say, 'I do, or I do not wish to see her.' She is a witness from whom the intelligence of my accusers," said she, looking at her brother-in-law, "and the justice of my judges," turning to the king and M. de Crosne, "must draw the truth. I, the accused, demand that she be heard."

"Madame," said the king, "we will not do Madame de la Motte the honor of sending for her to give evidence either for or against you. I cannot stake your honor against the veracity of this woman."

"You need not send for her, she is here."

"Here!" cried the king.

"Sire, you know I went to see her one day; that day of which so many things were said," and she looked again at the Comte de Provence, who felt ready to sink through the ground; "and I then dropped at her house a box, containing a portrait, which she was to return to me to-day, and she is here."

"No, no," said the king; "I am satisfied, and do not wish to see her."

"But I am not satisfied, and shall bring her in. Besides, why this repugnance? What has she done? If there be anything, tell me; you, M. de Crosne? you know everything."

"I know nothing against this lady," replied he.

"Really?"

"Certainly not; she is poor, and perhaps ambitious, but that is all."

"If there be no more than that against her, the king can surely admit her."

"I do not know why," said Louis; "but I have a presentiment that this woman will be the cause of misfortune to me."

"Oh! sire, that is superstition; pray fetch her, Madame de Lamballe."

Five minutes after, Jeanne, with a timid air, although with a distinguished appearance, entered the room.

Louis XVI., strong in his antipathies, had turned his back towards her, and was leaning his head on his hands, seeming to take no longer a part in the conversation. The Comte de Provence cast on her a look which, had her modesty been real, would have increased her confusion; but it required much more than that to trouble Jeanne.

"Madame," said the queen, "have the goodness to tell the king exactly what passed the other day at M. Mesmer's."

Jeanne did not speak.

"It requires no consideration," continued the queen; "we want nothing but the simple truth."

Jeanne understood immediately that the queen had need of her, and knew that she could clear her in a moment by speaking the simple truth; but she felt inclined to keep her secret.

"Sire," said she, "I went to see M. Mesmer from curiosity, like the rest of the world. The spectacle appeared to me rather a coarse one; I turned and suddenly saw her majesty entering, whom I had already had the honor of seeing, but without knowing her till her generosity revealed her rank. It seemed to me that her majesty was out of place in this room, where much suffering and many ridiculous exhibitions were going on. I beg pardon for having taken it on myself to judge; it was a woman's instinct, but I humbly beg pardon if I passed the bounds of proper respect." She seemed overcome with emotion as she concluded.

Every one but the king was pleased.

Madame de Lamballe thought her conduct delicate, and herself timid, intelligent, and good.

The queen thanked her by a look.

"Well," she said, "you have heard, sire."

He did not move, but said, "I did not need her testimony."

"I was told to speak," said Jeanne timidly, "and I obeyed."

"It is enough," answered he; "when the queen says a thing she needs no witnesses to confirm her; and when she has my approbation, and she has it, she need care for that of no one else."

He cast an overwhelming look on his brother, and kissing the hands of the queen and the princess, and begging pardon of the latter for having disturbed her for nothing, made a very slight bow to Jeanne.

The ladies then left the room.

"Brother," said Louis to the count, "now I will detain you no longer; I have work to do with M. de Crosne. You have heard your sister's complete justification, and it is easy to see you are as pleased as myself. Pray sit down, M. de Crosne."



CHAPTER XXXVI.

THE QUEEN.

The queen, after leaving the king, felt deeply the danger she had been so nearly incurring. She was therefore pleased with Jeanne, who had been the means of preventing it, and said to her, with a gracious smile:

"It is really fortunate, madame, that you prevented my prolonging my stay at M. Mesmer's, for only think, they have taken advantage of my being there to say that I was under the influence of the magnetism."

"But," said Madame de Lamballe, "it is very strange that the police should have been so deceived, and have affirmed that they saw the queen in the inner room."

"It is strange," said the queen; "and M. de Crosne is an honest man, and would not willingly injure me; but his agents may have been bought. I have enemies, dear Lamballe. Still there must have been some foundation for this tale. This infamous libel represents me as intoxicated, and overcome to such a degree by the magnetic fluid, that I lost all control over myself, and all womanly reserve. Did any such scene take place, Madame la Comtesse? Was there any one who behaved like this?"

Jeanne colored; the secret once told, she lost all the fatal influence which she could now exercise over the queen's destiny; therefore she again resolved to keep silent on this point.

"Madame," said she, "there was a woman much agitated who attracted great attention by her contortions and cries."

"Probably some actress or loose character."

"Possibly, madame."

"Countess, you replied very well to the king, and I will not forget you. How have you advanced in your own affairs?"

At this moment Madame de Misery came in, to say that Mademoiselle de Taverney wished to know if her majesty would receive her.

"Assuredly," said the queen. "How ceremonious you always are, Andree; why do you stand so much upon etiquette?"

"Your majesty is too good to me."

Madame de Lamballe now availed herself of Andree's entrance to take leave.

"Well, Andree," the queen then said, "here is this lady whom we went to see the other day."

"I recognize madame," said Andree, bowing.

"Do you know what they have been saying of me?"

"Yes, madame; M. de Provence has been repeating the story."

"Oh! no doubt; therefore we will leave that subject. Countess, we were speaking of you—who protects you now?"

"You, madame," replied Jeanne, boldly, "since you permit me to come and kiss your hand. Few people," she continued, "dared to protect me when I was in obscurity; now that I have been seen with your majesty, every one will be anxious to do so."

"Then," said the queen, "no one has been either brave enough or corrupt enough to protect you for yourself?"

"I had first Madame de Boulainvilliers, a brave protector; then her husband, a corrupt one; but since my marriage no one. Oh yes, I forget one brave man—a generous prince."

"Prince, countess! who is it?"

"Monsieur the Cardinal de Rohan."

"My enemy," said the queen, smiling.

"Your enemy! Oh, madame!"

"It seems you are astonished that a queen should have an enemy. It is evident you have not lived at court."

"But, madame, he adores you. The devotion of the cardinal equals his respect for you."

"Oh, doubtless," said the queen, with a hearty laugh; "that is why he is my enemy."

Jeanne looked surprised.

"And you are his protegee," continued the queen; "tell me all about it."

"It is very simple; his eminence has assisted me in the most generous, yet the most considerate, manner."

"Good; Prince Louis is generous; no one can deny that. But do you not think, Andree, that M. le Cardinal also adores this pretty countess a little? Come, countess, tell us." And Marie Antoinette laughed again in her frank, joyous manner.

"All this gaiety must be put on," thought Jeanne. So she answered, in a grave tone, "Madame, I have the honor to affirm to your majesty that M. de Rohan——"

"Well, since you are his friend, ask him what he did with some hair of mine which he bribed a certain hair-dresser to steal; and which trick cost the poor man dear, for he lost my custom."

"Your majesty surprises me; M. de Rohan did that?"

"Oh, yes; all his adoration, you know. After having hated me at Vienna, and having employed every means to try and prevent my marriage, he at last began to perceive that I was a woman, and his queen, and that he had offended me forever. Then this dear prince began to fear for his future, and, like all of his profession, who seem most fond of those whom they most fear, and as he knew me young and believed me foolish and vain, he turned—he became a professed admirer, and began with sighs and glances. He adores me, does he not, Andree?"

"Madame!"

"Oh! Andree will not compromise herself, but I say what I please; at least I may have that advantage from being a queen. So it is a settled thing that the cardinal adores me, and you may tell him, countess, that he has my permission."

Jeanne, instead of seeing in all this only the angry disdain of a noble character, which she was incapable of appreciating, thought it all pique against M. de Rohan, hiding another feeling for him, and therefore began to defend him with all her eloquence.

The queen listened.

"Good! she listens," thought Jeanne, and did not again understand that she listened through generosity, and through pleasure at anything so novel as to hear any person defend one of whom the sovereign chose to speak ill, and felt pleased with her, thinking she saw a heart where none was placed.

All at once a joyous voice was heard near, and the queen said, "Here is the Comte d'Artois."

When he entered, the queen introduced the countess to him.

"Pray do not let me send you away, Madame la Comtesse," said he, as Jeanne made a move to depart.

The queen also requested her to stay. "You have returned from the wolf-hunt, then?" she said.

"Yes, sister, and have had good sport; I have killed seven. I am not sure," continued he, laughing, "but they say so. However, do you know I have gained seven hundred francs?"

"How?"

"Why, they pay a hundred francs a head for these beasts. It is dear, but I would give two hundred of them just now for the head of a certain journalist."

"Ah! you know the story?"

"M. de Provence told me."

"He is indefatigable. But tell me how he related it."

"So as to make you whiter than snow, or Venus Aphroditus. It seems you came out of it gloriously; you are fortunate."

"Oh, you call that fortunate. Do you hear him, Andree?"

"Yes, for you might have gone alone, without Madame de Lamballe; and you might not have had Madame de la Motte there to stop your entrance."

"Ah! you know that too?"

"Oh yes; the count told everything. Then you might not have had Madame de la Motte at hand to give her testimony. You will tell me, doubtless, that virtue and innocence are like the violet which does not require to be seen in order to be recognized; but still I say you are fortunate."

"Badly proved."

"I will prove it still better. Saved so well from the unlucky scrape of the cabriolet, saved from this affair, and then the ball," whispered he in her ear.

"What ball?"

"The ball at the Opera."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean the ball at the Opera; but I beg pardon, I should not have mentioned it."

"Really, brother, you puzzle me; I know nothing about the ball at the Opera."

The words "ball" and "Opera" caught Jeanne's ear, and she listened intently.

"I am dumb," said the prince.

"But, count, I insist on knowing what it means."

"Oh, pray allow me to let it drop."

"Do you want to disoblige me?"

"No, sister; but I have said quite enough for you to understand."

"You have told me nothing."

"Oh, sister, it is needless with me."

"But really I am in earnest."

"You wish me to speak?"

"Immediately."

"Not here," said he, looking at the others.

"Yes, here; there cannot be too many at such an explanation."

"Then you mean to say you were not at the last ball?"

"I!" cried the queen, "at the ball at the Opera?"

"Hush, I beg."

"No, I will not hush; I will speak it aloud. You say I was at the ball?"

"Certainly I do."

"Perhaps you saw me?" she said ironically.

"Yes, I did."

"Me?"

"Yes, you."

"Oh, it is too much! Why did you not speak to me?"

"Ma foi! I was just going to do so, when the crowd separated us."

"You are mad!"

"I should not have spoken of it. I have been very foolish."

The queen rose, and walked up and down the room in great agitation.

Andree trembled with fear and disquietude, and Jeanne could hardly keep from laughing.

Then the queen stopped, and said:

"My friend, do not jest any more; you see, I am so passionate that I have lost my temper already. Tell me at once that you were joking with me."

"I will, if you please, sister."

"Be serious, Charles. You have invented all this, have you not?"

He winked at the ladies, and said, "Oh, yes, of course."

"You do not understand me, brother!" cried the queen vehemently. "Say yes or no. Do not tell falsehoods; I only want the truth!"

"Well, then, sister," said he, in a low voice, "I have told the truth, but I am sorry I spoke."

"You saw me there?"

"As plain as I see you now; and you saw me."

The queen uttered a cry, and, running up to Andree and Jeanne, cried, "Ladies, M. le Comte d'Artois affirms that he saw me at the ball at the Opera; let him prove it."

"Well," said he, "I was with M. de Richelieu and others, when your mask fell off."

"My mask!"

"I was about to say, 'This is too rash, sister,' but the gentleman with you drew you away so quickly."

"Oh, mon Dieu! you will drive me mad! What gentleman?"

"The blue domino."

The queen passed her hand over her eyes.

"What day was this?" she asked.

"Saturday. The next day I set off to hunt, before you were up."

"What time do you say you saw me?"

"Between two and three."

"Decidedly one of us is mad!"

"Oh, it is I. It is all a mistake. Do not be so afraid; there is no harm done. At first I thought you were with the king; but the blue domino spoke German, and he does not."

"Well, brother, on Saturday I went to bed at eleven."

The count bowed, with an incredulous smile.

The queen rang. "Madame de Misery shall tell you."

"Why do you not call Laurent also?" said he, laughing.

"Oh!" cried the queen in a rage, "not to be believed!"

"My dear sister, if I believed you, others would not."

"What others?"

"Those who saw you as well as myself."

"Who were they?"

"M. Philippe de Taverney, for instance."

"My brother?" cried Andree.

"Yes; shall we ask him?"

"Immediately."

"Mon Dieu!" murmured Andree, "my brother a witness!"

"Yes; I wish it;" and she went to seek him at his father's.

He was just leaving, after the scene we have described with his father, when the messenger met him. He came quickly, and Marie Antoinette turned to him at once.

"Sir," said she, "are you capable of speaking the truth?"

"Incapable of anything else, madame."

"Well, then, say frankly, have you seen me at any public place within the last week?"

"Yes, madame."

All hearts beat so that you might have heard them.

"Where?" said the queen, in a terrible voice.

Philippe was silent.

"Oh, no concealment, sir! My brother says you saw me at the ball of the Opera."

"I did, madame."

The queen sank on a sofa; then, rising furiously, she said:

"It is impossible, for I was not there! Take care, M. de Taverney!"

"Your majesty," said Andree, pale with anger, "if my brother says he saw you, he did see you."

"You also!" cried Marie Antoinette; "it only remains now for you to have seen me. Pardieu! my enemies overwhelm me."

"When I saw that the blue domino was not the king," said the Comte d'Artois, "I believed him to be that nephew of M. de Suffren whom you received so well here the other night."

The queen colored.

"Did it not look something like his tournure, M. de Taverney?" continued the count.

"I did not remark, monseigneur," said he, in a choking voice.

"But I soon found out that it was not he; for suddenly I saw him before me, and he was close by you when your mask fell off."

"So he saw me too?"

"If he were not blind, he did."

The queen rang.

"What are you about to do?"

"Send for him also, and ask. I will drain this cup to the dregs!"

"I do not think he can come," said Philippe.

"Why?"

"Because I believe he is not well."

"Oh, he must come, monsieur! I am not well either, but I would go to the end of the world barefoot to prove——"

All at once Andree, who was near the window, uttered an exclamation.

"What is it?" cried the queen.

"Oh, nothing; only here comes M. de Charny."

The queen, in her excitement, ran to the window, opened it, and cried, "M. de Charny!"

He, full of astonishment, hastened to enter.



CHAPTER XXXVII.

AN ALIBI.

M. de Charny entered, a little pale, but upright, and not apparently suffering.

"Take care, sister," said the Comte d'Artois; "what is the use of asking so many people?"

"Brother, I will ask the whole world, till I meet some one who will tell you you are deceived."

Charny and Philippe bowed courteously to each other, and Philippe said in a low voice, "You are surely mad to come out wounded; one would say you wished to die."

"One does not die from the scratch of a thorn in the Bois de Boulogne," replied Charny.

The queen approached, and put an end to this conversation. "M. de Charny," said she, "these gentlemen say that you were at the ball at the Opera?"

"Yes, your majesty."

"Tell us what you saw there."

"Does your majesty mean whom I saw there?"

"Precisely; and no complaisant reserve, M. de Charny."

"Must I say, madame?"

The cheeks of the queen assumed once more that deadly paleness, which had many times that morning alternated with a burning red.

"Did you see me?" she asked.

"Yes, your majesty, at the moment when your mask unhappily fell off."

Marie Antoinette clasped her hands.

"Monsieur," said she, almost sobbing, "look at me well; are you sure of what you say?"

"Madame, your features are engraved in the hearts of your subjects; to see your majesty once is to see you forever."

"But, monsieur," said she, "I assure you I was not at the ball at the Opera."

"Oh, madame," said the young man, bowing low, "has not your majesty the right to go where you please?"

"I do not ask you to find excuses for me; I only ask you to believe."

"I will believe all your majesty wishes me to believe," cried he.

"Sister, sister, it is too much," murmured the count.

"No one believes me!" cried she, throwing herself on the sofa, with tears in her eyes.

"Sister, pardon me," said the count tenderly, "you are surrounded by devoted friends; this secret, which terrifies you so, we alone know. It is confined to our hearts, and no one shall drag it from us while we have life."

"This secret! oh, I want nothing but to prove the truth."

"Madame," said Andree, "some one approaches."

The king was announced.

"The king! oh, so much the better. He is my only friend; he would not believe me guilty even if he thought he saw me."

The king entered with an air of calmness, in strange contrast to the disturbed countenances of those present.

"Sire," said the queen, "you come apropos; there is yet another calumny, another insult to combat."

"What is it?" said Louis, advancing.

"An infamous report. Aid me, sire, for now it is no longer my enemies that accuse me, but my friends."

"Your friends!"

"Yes, sire; M. le Comte d'Artois, M. de Taverney, and M. de Charny affirm that they saw me at the ball at the Opera."

"At the ball at the Opera!" cried the king.

A terrible silence ensued.

Madame de la Motte saw the mortal paleness of the queen, the terrible disquietude of the king and of all the others, and with one word she could have put an end to all this, and saved the queen, not only now, but in the future, from much distress. But she said to herself that it was too late; that they would see, if she spoke now, that she had deceived them before when the simple truth would have been of such advantage to the queen, and she should forfeit her newly-acquired favor. So she remained silent.

The king repeated, with an air of anguish, "At the ball at the Opera! Does M. de Provence know this?"

"But, sire, it is not true. M. le Comte d'Artois is deceived; M. de Taverney is deceived; M. de Charny, you are deceived, one may be mistaken."

All bowed.

"Come," continued she, "call all my people, ask every one. You say it was Saturday?"

"Yes, sister."

"Well, what did I do on Saturday? Let some one tell me, for I think I am going mad, and shall begin at last to believe that I did go to this infamous ball. But, gentlemen, if I had been there I would have confessed it."

At this moment the king approached her, every cloud gone from his brow. "Well, Marie," said he, "if it was Saturday, there is no need to call your women, or only to ask them at what hour I came to your room. I believe it was past eleven."

"Oh!" cried the queen, joyfully, "you are right, sire." And she threw herself into his arms; then, blushing and confused, she hid her face on his shoulder, while he kissed her tenderly.

"Well," said the Comte d'Artois, full of both surprise and joy, "I will certainly buy spectacles. But on my word, I would not have lost this scene for a million of money. Would you, gentlemen?"

Philippe was leaning against the wainscot as pale as death. Charny wiped the burning drops from his forehead.

"Therefore, gentlemen," said the king, turning towards them, "I know it to be impossible that the queen was that night at the ball at the Opera. Believe it or not, as you please. The queen I am sure is content that I know her to be innocent."

"Well," said M. d'Artois, "Provence may say what he pleases, but I defy his wife to prove an alibi in the same way, if she should be accused of passing the night out."

"Charles!"

"Pardon, sire, now I will take my leave."

"Well, I will go with you." And once more kissing the queen's hand, they left the room.

"M. de Taverney," said the queen severely, when they were gone, "do you not accompany M. d'Artois?"

Philippe started, all the blood rushed to his head, and he had hardly strength to bow and leave the room.

Andree was to be pitied also. She knew that Philippe would have given the world to have taken M. de Charny away with him, but she felt as though she could not follow to comfort him, leaving Charny alone with the queen, or only with Madame de la Motte, who, she instinctively felt, was worse than no one. But why this feeling? She could not love Charny; that, she told herself, was impossible. So slight and recent an acquaintance, and she who had vowed to love no one. Why then did she suffer so much when Charny addressed words of such respectful devotion to the queen? Was not this jealousy? "Yes," she thought, but only jealousy that this woman should draw all hearts towards her, while the whole world of gallantry and love passed her coldly by. It was no attraction to be a living problem, ever cold and reserved like Andree; they felt it, turned from her beauty and her intellect, and contented themselves with mere politeness. Andree felt this deeply; but on the night when they first met Charny, he showed towards her nothing of this coldness or reserve; she was to him as interesting as any other beautiful woman, and she felt cheered and warmed by it. But now the queen absorbed his every look and thought, and left her lonely again; therefore she did not follow her brother, although she suffered in his sufferings, and almost idolized him. She did not, however, attempt to mingle in the conversation, but sat down by the fire almost with her back to the queen and Charny, while Madame de la Motte stood in one of the deep windows, nearly out of sight, although she could observe all that passed.

The Queen remained silent for some minutes, then she said, almost to herself, "Would any one believe that such things pass here?" Then, turning to Charny, said, "We hear, sir, of the dangers of the sea and of the fury of tempests, but you have doubtless encountered all their assaults, and you are still safe and honored."

"Madame——"

"Then the English, our enemies, have attacked you with their guns and their power, but still you are safe; and on account of the enemies you have conquered, the king felicitates and admires you, and the people bless and love you; therefore, blessed are such enemies who menace us only with death. Our enemies do not endanger existence, it is true, but they add years to our lives; they make us bow the head, fearing, though innocent, to meet, as I have done, the double attacks of friends and enemies. And then, sir, if you knew how hard it is to be hated!"

Andree listened anxiously for his reply, but he only leaned against the wall, and grew pale.

The queen looked at him, and said, "It is too hot here; Madame de la Motte, open the window; monsieur is accustomed to the fresh sea-breezes; he would stifle in our boudoirs."

"It is not that, madame; but I am on duty at two o'clock, and unless your majesty wishes me to remain——"

"Oh! no, monsieur; we know what duty is. You are free," said the queen, in a tone of slight pique.

Charny bowed, and disappeared like a man in haste; but in a minute they beard from the ante-chamber the sound of a groan, and people hurrying forward. The queen, who was near the door, opened it, and uttered an exclamation; and was going out, when Andree rose quickly, saying, "Oh no! madame."

Then they saw through the open door the guards assisting M. de Charny, who had fainted. The queen closed the door, and sat down again, pensive and thoughtful. At last, she said, "It is an odd thing, but I do not believe M. de Charny was convinced!"

"Oh, madame! in spite of the king's word—impossible!"

"He may have thought the king said it for his own sake."

"My brother was not so incredulous," said Andree.

"It would be very wrong," continued the queen, not heeding her; "he could not have as noble a heart as I thought. But, after all, why should he believe? He thought he saw me. They all thought so. There is something in all this; something which I must clear up. Andree, I must find out what it all means."

"Your majesty is right; you must investigate it."

"For," continued the queen, "people said they saw me at M. Mesmer's."

"But your majesty was there," said Madame de la Motte.

"Yes; but I did not do what they insist they saw me do. And they saw me at the Opera, and I was not there. Oh!" cried she, "at last I guess the truth."

"The truth!" stammered the countess.

"Oh! I hope so," said Andree.

"Send for M. de Crosne," said the queen, joyously.



CHAPTER XXXVIII.

M. DE CROSNE.

M. de Crosne had felt himself in no slight degree embarrassed since his interview with the king and queen. It was no light matter to have the care of the interests of a crown and of the fame of a queen; and he feared that he was about to encounter all the weight of a woman's anger and a queen's indignation. He knew, however, that he had but done his duty, and he entered, therefore, tranquilly, with a smile on his face.

"Now, M. de Crosne," said the queen, "it is our turn for an explanation."

"I am at your majesty's orders."

"You ought to know the cause of all that has happened to me, sir."

M. de Crosne looked round him rather frightened.

"Never mind these ladies," said the queen; "you know them both; you know every one."

"Nearly," said the magistrate; "and I know the effects, but not the cause, of what has happened to your majesty."

"Then I must enlighten you, although it is a disagreeable task. I might tell you in private, but my thoughts and words are always open as the day; all the world may know them. I attribute the attacks that have been made upon me to the misconduct of some one who resembles me, and who goes everywhere; and thus your agents have made these mistakes."

"A resemblance!" cried M. de Crosne, too much occupied with the idea to observe the unquiet look which Jeanne could not for a moment prevent appearing.

"Well, sir, do you think this impossible; or do you prefer to think that I am deceiving you?"

"Oh no, madame! but surely, however strong a resemblance may be, there must be some points of difference to prevent people being so deceived."

"It seems not, sir; some are deceived."

"Oh! and I remember," said Andree, "when we lived at Taverney Maison Rouge, we had a servant who very strongly——"

"Resembled me?"

"Most wonderfully, your majesty."

"And what became of her?"

"We did not then know the great generosity of your majesty's mind, and my father feared that this resemblance might be disagreeable to you; and when we were at Trianon we kept her out of sight."

"You see, M. de Crosne. Ah! this interests you."

"Much, madame."

"Afterwards, dear Andree?"

"Madame, this girl, who was of an ambitious disposition and troublesome temper, grew tired of this quiet life, and had doubtless made bad acquaintances, for one night when I went to bed I was surprised not to see her; we sought her in vain, she had disappeared."

"Did she steal anything?"

"Nothing, madame."

"You did not know all this, M. de Crosne?"

"No, madame."

"Thus, then, there is a woman whose resemblance to me is striking, and you do not know her. I fear your police is badly organized."

"No, madame; a police magistrate is but a man, and though the vulgar may rate his power as something almost superhuman, your majesty is more reasonable."

"Still, sir, when a man has secured all possible powers for penetrating secrets, when he pays agents and spies, and to such an extent as to know every movement I make, he might prevent this sort of thing."

"Madame, when your majesty passed the night out, I knew it, the day you went to see madame at the Rue St. Claude; therefore my police is not bad. When you went to M. Mesmer's, my agents saw you. When you went to the Opera——"

The queen started.

"Pardon me, madame, if I saw you; but if your own brother-in-law mistook you, surely an agent at a crown a day may be pardoned for having done so. They thought they saw you, and reported accordingly; therefore my police is not bad. They also knew this affair of the journalist, so well punished by M. de Charny."

"M. de Charny!" cried the queen and Andree in a breath.

"Yes, madame: his blows are yet fresh on the shoulders of the journalist."

"M. de Charny committed himself with this fellow!"

"I know it by my calumniated police, madame; and also, which was more difficult, the duel which followed."

"A duel! M. de Charny fought?"

"With the journalist?" asked Andree.

"No, madame; the journalist was too well beaten to give M. de Charny the sword-thrust which made him faint here just now."

"Wounded!" cried the queen; "how and when? He was here just now."

"Oh!" said Andree, "I saw that he suffered."

"What do you say?" cried the queen, almost angrily; "you saw that he suffered, and did not mention it!"

Andree did not reply.

Jeanne, who wished to make a friend of her, came to her aid, saying, "I also, madame, saw that M. de Charny had difficulty in standing up while your majesty spoke to him."

"Monsieur," said the queen again to M. de Crosne, "with whom and why did M. de Charny fight?"

"With a gentleman who—— But really, madame, it is useless now. The two adversaries are friends again, for they spoke just now in your majesty's presence."

"In my presence!"

"Yes, madame; the conqueror left about twenty minutes ago."

"M. de Taverney!" cried the queen.

"My brother!" murmured Andree.

"I believe," said M. de Crosne, "that it was he with whom M. de Charny fought."

The queen made an angry gesture. "It is not right," she said; "these are American manners brought to Versailles. It is not because one has fought under M. Lafayette and Washington that my court should be disgraced by such proceedings. Andree, did you know your brother had fought?"

"Not till this moment, madame."

"Why did he fight?"

"If my brother fought," said Andree, "it was in your majesty's service."

"That is to say, that M. de Charny fought against me."

"Your majesty, I spoke only of my brother, and of no one else."

The queen tried hard to remain calm. She walked once or twice up and down the room, and then said, "M. de Crosne, you have convinced me: I was much disturbed by these rumors and accusations; your police is efficient, but I beg you not to forget to investigate this resemblance of which I have spoken. Adieu!" and she held out her hand to him with her own peculiar grace.

Andree made a movement to depart. The queen gave her a careless adieu.

Jeanne also prepared to leave, when Madame de Misery entered.

"Madame," said she to the queen, "did your majesty appoint this hour to receive MM. Boehmer and Bossange?"

"Oh, yes, it is true; let them come in. Remain a little longer, Madame de la Motte; I want the king to make a full peace with you." Perhaps she wished to pique Andree by this favor to a newcomer, but Andree did not seem to heed.

"All these Taverneys are made of iron," thought the queen. "Ah, gentlemen, what do you bring me now? you know I have no money."



CHAPTER XXXIX.

THE TEMPTRESS.

Madame de la Motte remained, therefore, as before.

"Madame," replied M. Boehmer, "we do not come to offer anything to your majesty, we should fear to be indiscreet; but we come to fulfil a duty, and that has emboldened us——"

"A duty?"

"Concerning the necklace which your majesty did not deign to take."

"Oh! then, the necklace has come again," said Marie Antoinette, laughing. "It was really beautiful, M. Boehmer."

"So beautiful," said Bossange, "that your majesty alone was worthy to wear it."

"My consolation is," said the queen, with a sigh which did not escape Jeanne, "that it cost a million and a half. Was not that the price, M. Boehmer?"

"Yes, your majesty."

"And in these times," continued the queen, "there is no sovereign that can give such a sum for a necklace; so that although I cannot wear it, no one else can: and once broken up, I should care nothing about it."

"That is an error of your majesty's; the necklace is sold."

"Sold!" cried the queen. "To whom?"

"Ah! madame, that is a state secret."

"Oh!" said the queen, "I think I am safe. A state secret means that there is nothing to tell."

"With your majesty," continued Boehmer, as gravely as ever, "we do not act as with others. The necklace is sold, but in the most secret manner, and an ambassador——"

"I really think he believes it himself!" interrupted the queen, laughing again. "Come, M. Boehmer, tell me at least the country he comes from, or, at all events, the first letter of his name."

"Madame, it is the ambassador from Portugal," said Boehmer, in a low voice, that Madame de la Motte might not hear.

"The ambassador from Portugal!" said the queen. "There is none here, M. Boehmer."

"He came expressly for this, madame."

"Do you imagine so?"

"Yes, madame."

"What is his name?"

"M. de Souza."

The queen did not reply for a few minutes, and then said, "Well, so much the better for the Queen of Portugal. Let us speak of it no more."

"But allow us one moment, madame," said Boehmer.

"Have you ever seen those diamonds?" said the queen to Jeanne.

"No, madame."

"They are beautiful. It is a pity these gentlemen have not brought them."

"Here they are," said Boehmer, opening the case.

"Come, countess, you are a woman, and these will please you."

Jeanne uttered a cry of admiration when she saw them, and said, "They are indeed beautiful."

"1,500,000 francs, which you hold in the palm of your hand," said the queen.

"Monsieur was right," said Jeanne, "when he said that no one was worthy to wear these diamonds but your majesty."

"However, my majesty will not wear them."

"We could not let them leave France without expressing our regret to your majesty. It is a necklace which is now known all over Europe, and we wished to know definitively that your majesty really refused it before we parted with it."

"My refusal has been made public," said the queen, "and has been too much applauded for me to repent of it."

"Oh, madame!" said Boehmer, "if the people found it admirable that your majesty preferred a ship of war to a necklace, the nobility at least would not think it surprising if you bought the necklace after all."

"Do not speak of it any more," said Marie Antoinette, casting at the same time a longing look at the casket.

Jeanne sighed, "Ah, you sigh, countess; in my place you would act differently."

"I do not know, madame."

"Have you looked enough?"

"Oh no! I could look forever."

"Let her look, gentlemen; that takes nothing from the value. Unfortunately, they are still worth 1,500,000 francs."

"Oh," thought Jeanne, "she is regretting it." And she said, "On your neck, madame, they would make all women die with jealousy, were they as beautiful as Cleopatra or Venus." And, approaching, she clasped it round her neck. "Ah, your majesty is beautiful so!"

The queen turned to the mirror. It was really splendid; every one must have admired. Marie Antoinette forgot herself for a time in admiration; then, seized with fear, she tried to take it off.

"It has touched your majesty's neck; it ought not to belong to any one else," said Boehmer.

"Impossible!" said the queen, firmly. "Gentlemen, I have amused myself with these jewels; to do more would be a fault."

"We will return to-morrow," said Boehmer.

"No; I must pay sooner or later; and, besides, doubtless you want your money. You will get it soon."

"Yes, your majesty," said the merchant, a man of business again.

"Take the necklace back," said the queen; "put it away immediately."

"Your majesty forgets that such a thing is equal to money itself."

"And that in a hundred years it will be worth as much as it is now," said Jeanne.

"Give me 1,500,000 francs," said the queen, "and we shall see."

"Oh, if I had them!"

MM. Boehmer and Bossange took as long as possible to put back the necklace, but the queen did not speak.

At last they said, "Your majesty refuses them?"

"Yes, oh yes!" And they quitted the room.

Marie Antoinette remained sitting, looking rather gloomy, and beating with her foot in an impatient manner; at last she said, "Countess, it seems the king will not return; we must defer our supplication till another time."

Jeanne bowed respectfully.

"But I will not forget you," added the queen.

"She is regretting and desiring," thought Jeanne, as she left; "and yet she is a queen."



CHAPTER XL.

TWO AMBITIONS THAT WISH TO PASS FOR TWO LOVES.

When Jeanne returned to her pretty little house in the faubourg, it was still early; so she took a pen and wrote a few rapid lines, enclosed them in a perfumed envelope, and rang the bell. "Take this letter to Monseigneur the Cardinal de Rohan," said she.

In five minutes the man returned.

"Well," said Madame de la Motte, impatiently, "why are you not gone?"

"Just as I left the house, madame, his eminence came to the door. I told him I was about to go to his hotel with a letter from you; he read it, and is now waiting to come in."

"Let him enter," said the countess.

Jeanne had been thinking all the way home of the beautiful necklace, and wishing it was hers. It would be a fortune in itself.

The cardinal entered. He also was full of desires and ambitions, which he wished to hide under the mask of love.

"Ah, dear Jeanne," said he, "you have really become so necessary to me that I have been gloomy all day knowing you to be so far off. But you have returned from Versailles?"

"As you see, monseigneur."

"And content?"

"Enchanted."

"The queen received you, then?"

"I was introduced immediately on my arrival."

"You were fortunate. I suppose, from your triumphant air, that she spoke to you."

"I passed three hours in her majesty's cabinet."

"Three hours! You are really an enchantress whom no one can resist. But perhaps you exaggerate. Three hours!" he repeated; "how many things a clever woman like you might say in three hours!"

"Oh, I assure you, monseigneur, that I did not waste my time."

"I dare say that in the whole three hours you did not once think of me."

"Ungrateful man!"

"Really!" cried the cardinal.

"I did more than think of you; I spoke of you."

"Spoke of me! to whom?" asked the prelate, in a voice from which all his power over himself could not banish some emotion.

"To whom should it be but to the queen?"

"Ah, dear countess, tell me about it. I interest myself so much in all that concerns you, that I should like to hear the most minute details."

Jeanne smiled. She knew what interested the cardinal as well as he did himself. Then she related to him all the circumstances which had so fortunately made her, from a stranger, almost the friend and confidant of the queen.

Scarcely had she finished, when the servant entered to announce supper.

Jeanne invited the cardinal to accompany her.

He gave her his arm, and they went in together.

During supper, the cardinal continued to drink in long draughts of love and hope from the recitals which Jeanne kept making to him from time to time. He remarked also, with surprise, that, instead of making herself sought like a woman that knows that you have need of her, she had thrown off all her former pride, and only seemed anxious to please him. She did the honors of her table as if she had all her life mixed in the highest circles; there was neither awkwardness nor embarrassment.

"Countess," said he at length, "there are two women in you."

"How so?"

"One of yesterday, and another of to-day."

"And which does your excellency prefer?"

"I do not know, but at least the one of this evening is a Circe—a something irresistible."

"And which you will not attempt to resist, I hope, prince as you are."

The cardinal imprinted a long kiss on her hand.



CHAPTER XLI.

FACES UNDER THEIR MASKS.

Two hours had elapsed, and the conversation still continued. The cardinal was now the slave, and Jeanne was triumphant. Two men often deceive each other as they shake hands, a man and a woman as they kiss; but here, each only deceived the other because they wished to be deceived: each had an end to gain, and for that end intimacy was necessary.

The cardinal now did not demonstrate his impatience, but always managed to bring back the conversation to Versailles, and to the honors which awaited the queen's new favorite.

"She is generous," said he, "and spares nothing towards those she loves. She has the rare talent of giving a little to every one, and a great deal to a few."

"You think, then, she is rich?"

"She makes resources with a word or a smile; no minister, except perhaps Turgot, ever refused her anything."

"Well," said Madame de la Motte, "I have seen her poorer than you think."

"What do you mean?"

"Are those rich who are obliged to impose privations on themselves?"

"Privations! What do you mean, dear countess?"

"I will tell you what I saw—I saw the queen suffer. Do you know what a woman's desire is, my dear prince?"

"No, countess; but I should like you to tell me."

"Well, the queen has a desire, which she cannot satisfy."

"For what?"

"For a diamond necklace."

"Oh, I know what you mean—the diamonds of MM. Boehmer and Bossange."

"Precisely."

"That is an old story, countess."

"Old or new, it is a real vexation for a queen not to be able to buy what was intended for a simple favorite. Fifteen more days added to the life of Louis XV., and Jeanne Vaubernier would have had what Marie Antoinette cannot buy."

"My dear countess, you mistake; the queen could have had it, and she refused it; the king offered them to her."

And he recounted the history of the ship of war.

"Well," said she, "after all, what does that prove?"

"That she did not want them, it seems to me."

Jeanne shrugged her shoulders.

"You know women and courts, and believe that? The queen wanted to do a popular act, and she has done it."

"Good!" said the cardinal; "that is how you believe in the royal virtues. Ah, skeptic, St. Thomas was credulous, compared to you!"

"Skeptic or not, I can assure you of one thing—that the queen had no sooner refused it than she earnestly desired to have it."

"You imagine all this, my dear countess; for if the queen has one quality more than another, it is disinterestedness. She does not care for gold or jewels, and likes a simple flower as well as a diamond."

"I do not know that; I only know she wishes for this necklace."

"Prove it, countess."

"It is easy. I saw the necklace, and touched it."

"Where?"

"At Versailles, when the jewelers brought it for the last time to try and tempt the queen."

"And it is beautiful?"

"Marvelous! I, who am a woman, think that one might lose sleep and appetite in wishing for it."

"Alas! why have I not a vessel to give the king?"

"A vessel!"

"Yes, for in return he would give me the necklace, and then you could eat and sleep in peace."

"You laugh."

"No, really."

"Well, I will tell you something that will astonish you. I would not have the necklace."

"So much the better, countess, for I could not give it to you."

"Neither you nor any one—that is what the queen feels."

"But I tell you that the king offered it to her."

"And I tell you that women like best those presents that come from people from whom they are not forced to accept them."

"I do not understand you."

"Well, never mind; and, after all, what does it matter to you, since you cannot have it?"

"Oh, if I were king and you were queen, I would force you to have it."

"Well, without being king, oblige the queen to have it, and see if she is angry, as you suppose she would be."

The cardinal looked at her with wonder.

"You are sure," said he, "that you are not deceived, and that the queen wishes for it?"

"Intensely. Listen, dear prince. Did you tell me, or where did I hear it, that you would like to be minister?"

"You may have heard me say so, countess."

"Well, I will bet that the queen would make that man a minister who would place the necklace on her toilet within a week."

"Oh, countess!"

"I say what I think. Would you rather I kept silent?"

"Certainly not."

"However, it does not concern you, after all. It is absurd to suppose that you would throw away a million and a half on a royal caprice; that would be paying too dearly for the portfolio, which you ought to have for nothing, so think no more of what I have said."

The cardinal continued silent and thoughtful.

"Ah, you despise me now!" continued she; "you think I judge the queen by myself. So I do; I thought she wanted these diamonds because she sighed as she looked at them, and because in her place I should have coveted them."

"You are an adorable woman, countess! You have, by a wonderful combination, softness of mind and strength of heart; sometimes you are so little of a woman that I am frightened; at others, so charmingly so, that I bless Heaven and you for it. And now we will talk of business no more."

"So be it," thought Jeanne; "but I believe the bait has taken, nevertheless."

Indeed, although the cardinal said, "Speak of it no more," in a few minutes he asked, "Does not Boehmer live somewhere on the Quai de la Ferraille, near the Pont Neuf?"

"Yes, you are right; I saw the name on the door as I drove along."

Jeanne was not mistaken—the fish had taken the hook; and the next morning the cardinal drove to M. Boehmer. He intended to preserve his incognito, but they knew him, and called him "Monseigneur" directly.

"Well, gentlemen," said he, "if you know me, keep my secret from others."

"Monseigneur may rely upon us. What can we do for your eminence?"

"I come to buy the necklace which you showed her majesty."

"Really we are in despair, but it is too late."

"How so?"

"It is sold."

"Impossible, as you offered it only yesterday to the queen."

"Who again refused it, so our other bargain held good."

"And with whom was this bargain?"

"It is secret, monseigneur."

"Too many secrets, M. Boehmer," said he, rising; "but I should have thought that a French jeweler would prefer selling these beautiful stones in France. You prefer Portugal—very well."

"Monseigneur knows that!" cried the jeweler.

"Well, is that astonishing?"

"No one knew it but the queen."

"And if that were so?" said M. de Rohan without contradicting a supposition that flattered him.

"Ah! that would change matters."

"Why so, sir?"

"May I speak freely?"

"Certainly."

"The queen wishes for the necklace."

"You think so?"

"I am sure of it."

"Then why did she not buy it?"

"Because she had already refused the king, and she thought it would look capricious to buy it now."

"But the king wished her to have it."

"Yes, but he thanked her for refusing; therefore I think she wishes to have it without seeming to buy it."

"Well, you are wrong, sir."

"I am sorry for it, monseigneur. It would have been our only excuse for breaking our word to the Portuguese ambassador."

The cardinal reflected for a moment. "Then, sir, let us suppose that the queen wishes for your necklace."

"Oh! in that case, monseigneur, we would break through anything, that she should have it."

"What is the price?"

"1,500,000 francs."

"How do you want payment?"

"The Portuguese was to give 100,000 francs down, and I was to take the necklace myself to Lisbon, where the balance was to be paid."

"Well, the 100,000 francs down you shall have; that is reasonable. As for the rest——"

"Your eminence wishes for time? With such a guarantee, we should not object; only credit implies a loss. The interest of our money must be considered."

"Well, call it 1,600,000 francs, and divide the time of payment into three periods, making a year."

"That would be a loss to us, sir."

"Oh! nonsense; if I paid you the whole amount to-morrow, you would hardly know what to do with it."

"There are two of us, monseigneur."

"Well, you will receive 500,000 francs every four months. That ought to satisfy you."

"Monseigneur forgets that these diamonds do not belong to us; if they did, we should be rich enough to wait; they belong to a dozen different creditors. We got some from Hamburg, some from Naples, one at Buenos Ayres, and one at Moscow. All these people wait for the sale of the necklace to be paid. The profit that we make is all that will be ours; and we have already had it two years on hand."

M. de Rohan interrupted him. "After all," said he, "I have not seen the necklace."

"True, monseigneur; here it is."

"It is really superb," cried the cardinal; "it is a bargain?"

"Yes, monseigneur. I must go to the ambassador and excuse myself."

"I did not think there was a Portuguese ambassador just now."

"M. de Souza arrived incognito."

"To buy this necklace?"

"Yes, monseigneur."

"Oh! poor Souza, I know him well," said he, laughing.

"With whom am I to conclude the transaction?" asked M. Boehmer.

"With myself; you will see no one else. To-morrow I will bring the 100,000 francs, and will sign the agreement. And as you are a man of secrets, M. Boehmer, remember that you now possess an important one."

"Monseigneur, I feel it, and will merit your confidence and the queen's."

M. de Rohan went away happy, like all men who ruin themselves in a transport of passion.

The next day M. Boehmer went to the hotel of the Portuguese ambassador. At the moment he knocked at the door, M. Beausire was going through some accounts with M. Ducorneau, while Don Manoel was taking over some new plan with the valet, his associate.

M. Ducorneau was charmed to find an ambassador so free from national prejudice as to have formed his whole establishment of Frenchmen. Thus his conversation was full of praises of him.

"The Souzas, you see," replied Beausire, "are not of the old school of Portuguese. They are great travelers, very rich, who might be kings if they liked."

"And do they not?"

"Why should they? With a certain number of millions, and the name of a prince, one is better than a king."

"Ah, Portugal will soon become great with such men at its head. But when is the presentation to take place? It is most anxiously looked for. The people around begin to talk of it, and to collect about the doors of the hotel, as though they were of glass, and they could see through."

"Do you mean the people of the neighborhood?" asked Beausire.

"And others; for, the mission of M. de Souza being a secret one, you may be sure the police would soon interest themselves about it; and look," continued Ducorneau, leading Beausire to the window, "do you see that man in the brown surtout, how he looks at the house?"

"Yes, he does indeed. Who do you take him to be?"

"Probably a spy of M. de Crosne. However, between ourselves, M. de Crosne is not equal to M. Sartines. Did you know him?"

"No."

"Ah! he would have found out all about you long ago, in spite of all your precautions."

A bell rang. "His excellency rings!" said Beausire, who was beginning to feel embarrassed by the conversation, and opening the door quickly, he nearly knocked down two of the clerks who were listening.



CHAPTER XLII.

IN WHICH M. DUCORNEAU UNDERSTANDS NOTHING OF WHAT IS PASSING.

Don Manoel was less yellow than usual, that is to say, he was more red. He had just been having a fierce altercation with his valet, and they were still disputing when Beausire entered.

"Come, M. Beausire, and set us right," said the valet.

"About what?"

"This 100,000 francs. It is the property of the association, is it not?"

"Certainly."

"Ah, M. Beausire agrees with me."

"Wait," said Don Manoel.

"Well, then," continued the valet, "the chest ought not to be kept close to the ambassador's room."

"Why not?" asked Beausire.

"M. Manoel ought to give us each a key to it."

"Not so," said Manoel; "do you suspect me of wishing to rob the association? I may equally suspect you, when you ask for a key."

"But," said the valet, "we have all equal rights."

"Really, monsieur, if you wish to make us all equal, we ought to have played the ambassador in turn. It would have been less plausible in the eyes of the public, but it would have satisfied you."

"And besides," said Beausire, "M. Manoel has the incontestable privilege of the inventor."

"Oh," replied the valet, "the thing once started, there are no more privileges. I do not speak for myself only; all our comrades think the same."

"They are wrong," said both Manoel and Beausire.

"I was wrong myself to take the opinion of M. Beausire; of course the secretary supports the ambassador."

"Monsieur," replied Beausire, "you are a knave, whose ears I would slit, if it had not already been done too often. You insult me by saying that I have an understanding with Manoel."

"And me also," said Manoel.

"And I demand satisfaction," added Beausire.

"Oh, I am no fighter."

"So I see," said Beausire, seizing hold of him.

"Help! help!" cried the valet, attacked at once by both of them. But just then they heard a bell ring.

"Leave him, and let him open the door," said Manoel.

"Our comrades shall hear all this," replied the valet.

"Tell them what you please; we will answer for our conduct."

"M. Boehmer!" cried the porter from below.

"Well, we shall have no more contests about the 100,000 francs," said Manoel; "for they will disappear with M. Boehmer."

M. Boehmer entered, followed by Bossange. Both looked humble and embarrassed. Boehmer began, and explained that political reasons would prevent their fulfilling their contract.

Manoel cried out angrily; Beausire looked fierce.

Manoel said "that the bargain was completed, and the money ready."

Boehmer persisted.

Manoel, always through Beausire, replied, "that his Government had been apprised of the conclusion of the bargain, and that it was an insult to his queen to break it off."

M. Boehmer was very sorry, but it was impossible to act otherwise.

Beausire, in Manoel's name, refused to accept the retractation, and abused M. Boehmer as a man without faith, and ended by saying, "You have found some one to pay more for it."

The jewelers colored.

Beausire saw that he was right, and feigned to consult his ambassador. "Well," said he at length, "if another will give you more for your diamonds, we would do the same, rather than have this affront offered to our queen. Will you take 50,000 francs more?"

Boehmer shook his head.

"100,000, or even 150,000," continued Beausire, willing to offer anything rather than lose the booty.

The jewelers looked dazzled for a moment, consulted together, and then said, "No, monsieur, it is useless to tempt us. A will more powerful than our own compels us to decline. You understand, no doubt, that it is not we who refuse. We only obey the orders of one greater than any of us."

Beausire and Manoel saw that it was useless to say more, and tried to look and speak indifferently on the matter.

Meanwhile the valet had been listening attentively, and just then making an unlucky movement, stumbled against the door. Beausire ran to the ante-chamber. "What on earth are you about?" cried he.

"Monsieur, I bring the morning despatches."

"Good," said Beausire, taking them from him, "now go."

They were letters from Portugal, generally very insignificant, but which, passing through their hands before going to Ducorneau, often gave them useful information about the affairs of the embassy.

The jewelers, hearing the word despatches, rose to leave like men who had received their conge.

"Well," said Manoel, when they were gone, "we are completely beaten. Only 100,000 francs, a poor spoil; we shall have but 8,000 each."

"It is not worth the trouble. But it might be 50,000 each."

"Good," replied Manoel, "but the valet will never leave us now he knows the affair has failed."

"Oh, I know how we will manage him. He will return immediately, and claim his share and that of his comrades, and we shall have the whole house on our hands. Well, I will call him first to a secret conference; then leave me to act."

"I think I understand," said Manoel.

Neither, however, would leave his friend alone with the chest while he went to call him.

Manoel said "that his dignity as ambassador prevented him from taking such a step."

"You are not ambassador to him," said Beausire; "however, I will call through the window."

The valet, who was just beginning a conversation with the porter, hearing himself called, came up.

Beausire said to him, with a smiling air, "I suppose you were telling this business to the porter?"

"Oh, no."

"Are you sure?"

"I swear!"

"For if you were, you were committing a great folly, and have lost a great deal of money."

"How so?"

"Why, at present only we three know the secret, and could divide the 100,000 francs between us, as they all now think we have given it to M. Boehmer."

"Morbleu!" cried the valet, "it is true: 33,300 francs each."

"Then you accept?"

"I should think so."

"I said you were a rogue," said Beausire, in a thundering voice; "come, Don Manoel, help me to seize this man, and give him up to our associates."

"Pardon! pardon!" cried the unfortunate, "I did but jest."

"Shut him up until we can devise his punishment."

The man began to cry out.

"Take care," said Beausire, "that Ducorneau does not hear us."

"If you do not leave me alone," said the valet, "I will denounce you all."

"And I will strangle you," said Don Manoel, trying to push him into a neighboring closet.

"Send away Ducorneau somewhere, Beausire, while I finish this fellow."

When he had locked him up, he returned to the room. Beausire was not there; Don Manoel felt tempted. He was alone, and Beausire might be some little time; he could open the chest, take out all the bank-notes, and be off in two minutes. He ran to the room where it was: the door was locked. "Ah," thought he, "Beausire distrusted me, and locked the door before he went." He forced back the lock with his sword, and then uttered a terrible cry. The chest was opened and empty. Beausire had got, as we know, a second key; he had forestalled Manoel.

Manoel ran down like a madman; the porter was singing at the door—he asked if Beausire had passed.

"Yes, some ten minutes ago."

Manoel became furious, summoned them all, and ran to release the unfortunate valet. But when he told his story, Manoel was accused of being an accomplice of Beausire, and they all turned against him.

M. Ducorneau felt ready to faint, when he entered and saw the men preparing to hang M. de Souza. "Hang M. de Souza!" cried he. "It is high treason."

At last they threw him into a cellar, fearing his cries would arouse the neighborhood.

At that moment loud knocks at the door disturbed them,—they looked at each other in dismay. The knocks were repeated, and some one cried, "Open in the name of the Portuguese ambassador."

On hearing this, each made his escape in terror, as he best could, scrambling over walls and roofs. The true ambassador could only enter by the help of the police.

They found and arrested M. Ducorneau, who slept that night in the Chatelet.

Thus ended the adventure of the sham embassy from the Portugal.



CHAPTER XLIII.

ILLUSIONS AND REALITIES.

Beausire, on leaving the house, ran as fast as possible down the Rue Coquilliere, then into the Rue St. Honore, and took everywhere the most intricate and improbable turnings he could think of, and continued this until he became quite exhausted. Then, thinking himself tolerably safe, he sat down in the corn market, on a sack, to recover his breath. "Ah!" thought he, "now I have made my fortune; I will be an honest man for the future, and I will make Oliva an honest woman. She is beautiful, and she will not mind leading a retired life with me in some province, where we shall live like lords. She is very good; she has but two faults, idleness and pride, and as I shall satisfy her on both these points, she will be perfect." He then began to reflect on what he should do next. They would seek him, of course, and most likely divide into different parties, and some would probably go first to his own house. Here lay his great difficulty, for there they would find Oliva, and they might ill-treat her. They might even take her as a hostage, speculating on his love for her. What should he do? Love carried the day; he ran off again like lightning, took a coach, and drove to the Pont Neuf. He then looked cautiously down the Rue Dauphine to reconnoiter, and he saw two men, who seemed also looking anxiously down the street. He thought they were police spies, but that was nothing uncommon in that part of the town; so, bending his back, and walking lamely, for disguise, he went on till he nearly reached his house. Suddenly he thought he saw the coat of a gendarme in the courtyard; then he saw one at the window of Oliva's room. He felt ready to drop, but he thought his best plan was to walk quietly on; he had that courage, and passed the house. Heavens! what a sight! the yard was full of soldiers, and among them a police commissioner. Beausire's rapid glance showed him what he thought disappointed faces. He thought that M. de Crosne had somehow begun to suspect him, and, sending to take him, had found only Oliva.

"I cannot help her now," thought he; "I should only lose my money and destroy us both. No, let me place that in safety, and then I will see what can be done." He therefore ran off again, taking his way almost mechanically towards the Luxembourg; but as he turned the corner of the Rue St. Germain, he was almost knocked down by a handsome carriage which was driving towards the Rue Dauphine, and, raising his head to swear at the coachman, he thought he saw Oliva inside, talking with much animation to a handsome man who sat by her. He gave a cry of surprise, and would have run after it, but he could not again encounter the Rue Dauphine. He felt bewildered, for he had before settled that Oliva had been arrested in her own house, and he fancied his brain must be turning when he believed he saw her in the carriage. But he started off again and took refuge in a small cabaret at the Luxembourg, where the hostess was an old friend. There he gradually began to recover again his courage and hope. He thought the police would not find him, and that his money was safe. He remembered also that Oliva had committed no crime, and that the time was passed when people were kept prisoners for nothing. He also thought that his money would soon obtain her release, even if she were sent to prison, and he would then set off with her for Switzerland. Such were his dreams and projects as he sat sipping his wine.



CHAPTER XLIV.

OLIVA BEGINS TO ASK WHAT THEY WANT OF HER.

If M. Beausire had trusted to his eyesight, which was excellent, instead of trusting his imagination, he would have spared himself much regret and many mistakes. It was, in fact, Oliva who sat in the carriage by the side of a man, whom he would also have recognized if he had looked a little longer. She had gone that morning, as usual, to take a walk in the gardens of the Luxembourg, where she had met the strange friend whose acquaintance she had made the day of the ball at the Opera.

It was just as she was about to return that he appeared before her, and said, "Where are you going?"

"Home, monsieur."

"Just what the people want who are there waiting for you."

"Waiting for me? No one is there for me."

"Oh, yes, a dozen visitors at least."

"A whole regiment, perhaps?" said Oliva, laughing.

"Perhaps, had it been possible to send a whole regiment, they would have done so."

"You astonish me!"

"You would be far more astonished if I let you go."

"Why?"

"Because you would be arrested."

"I! arrested?"

"Assuredly. The twelve gentlemen who wait for you are sent by M. de Crosne."

Oliva trembled. Some people are always fearful on certain points. But she said:

"I have done nothing; why should they arrest me?"

"For some intrigue, perhaps."

"I have none."

"But you have had."

"Oh, perhaps."

"Well, perhaps they are wrong to wish to arrest you, but the fact is that they do desire to do so. Will you still go home?"

"You deceive me," said Oliva; "if you know anything, tell me at once. Is it not Beausire they want?"

"Perhaps; he may have a conscience less clear than yours."

"Poor fellow!"

"Pity him, if you like; but if he is taken, there is no need for you to be taken too."

"What interest have you in protecting me?" asked she. "It is not natural for a man like you."

"I would not lose time if I were you; they are very likely to seek you here, finding you do not return."

"How should they know I am here?"

"Are you not always here? My carriage is close by, if you will come with me. But I see you doubt still."

"Yes."

"Well, we will commit an imprudence to convince you. We will drive past your house, and when you have seen these gentlemen there, I think you will better appreciate my good offices."

He led her to the carriage, and drove to the Rue Dauphine, at the corner of which they passed Beausire. Had Oliva seen him, doubtless she would have abandoned everything to fly with him and share his fate, whatever it might be; but Cagliostro, who did see him, took care to engage her attention by showing her the crowd, which was already in sight, and which was waiting to see what the police would do.

When Oliva could distinguish the soldiers who filled her house, she threw herself into the arms of her protector in despair. "Save me! save me!" she cried.

He pressed her hand. "I promise you."

"But they will find me out anywhere."

"Not where I shall take you; they will not seek you at my house."

"Oh!" cried she, frightened, "am I to go home with you?"

"You are foolish," said he; "I am not your lover, and do not wish to become so. If you prefer a prison, you are free to choose."

"No," replied she, "I trust myself to you, take me where you please."

He conducted her to the Rue Neuve St. Gilles, into a small room on the second floor.

"How triste!" said she; "here, without liberty, and without even a garden to walk in."

"You are right," said he; "besides, my people would see you here at last."

"And would betray me, perhaps."

"No fear of that. But I will look out for another abode for you; I do not mean you to remain here."

Oliva was consoled; besides, she found amusing books and easy-chairs.

He left her, saying, "If you want me, ring; I will come directly if I am at home."

"Ah!" cried she, "get me some news of Beausire."

"Before everything." Then, as he went down, he said to himself, "It will be a profanation to lodge her in that house in the Rue St. Claude; but it is important that no one should see her, and there no one will. So I will extinguish the last spark of my old light."



CHAPTER XLV.

THE DESERTED HOUSE.

When Cagliostro arrived at the deserted house in the Rue St. Claude, with which our readers are already acquainted, it was getting dark, and but few people were to be seen in the streets.

Cagliostro drew a key from his pocket, and applied it to the lock; but the door was swollen with the damp, and stiff with age, and it required all his strength to open it. The courtyard was overgrown with moss, the steps crumbling away; all looked desolate and deserted. He entered the hall, and lighted a lamp which he had brought with him. He felt a strange agitation as he approached the door which he had so often entered to visit Lorenza. A slight noise made his heart beat quickly; he turned, and saw an adder gliding down the staircase; it disappeared in a hole near the bottom.