Le collier de la reine. English

by Alexandre Dumas

  CHAPTER LXXXII.

  A DEAD HEART.

  "Andree," continued the queen, "it looks strange to see you in thisdress; to see an old friend and companion already lost to life, is likea warning to ourselves from the tomb."

  "Madame, no one has a right to warn or counsel your majesty."

  "That was never my wish," said the queen; "tell me truly, Andree, hadyou to complain of me when you were at court?"

  "Your majesty was good enough to ask me that question when I took leave,and I replied then as now, no, madame."

  "But often," said the queen, "a grief hurts us which is not personal;have I injured any one belonging to you? Andree, the retreat which youhave chosen is an asylum against evil passions; here God teachesgentleness, moderation and forgiveness of injuries. I come as a friend,and ask you to receive me as such."

  Andree felt touched. "Your majesty knows," said she, "that the Taverneyscannot be your enemies."

  "I understand," replied the queen; "you cannot pardon me for having beencold to your brother, and, perhaps, he himself accuses me of caprice."

  "My brother is too respectful a subject to accuse the queen," saidAndree, coldly.

  The queen saw that it was useless to try and propitiate Andree on thissubject; so she said only, "Well, at least, I am ever your friend."

  "Your majesty overwhelms me with your goodness."

  "Do not speak thus; cannot the queen have a friend?"

  "I assure you, madame, that I have loved you as much as I shall everlove any one in this world." She colored as she spoke.

  "You have loved me; then you love me no more? Can a cloister so quicklyextinguish all affection and all remembrance? if so, it is a cursedplace."

  "Do not accuse my heart, madame, it is dead."

  "Your heart dead, Andree? you, so young and beautiful."

  "I repeat to you, madame, nothing in the court, nothing in the world, isany more to me. Here I live like the herb or the flower, alone formyself. I entreat you to pardon me; this forgetfulness of the gloriousvanities of the world is no crime. My confessor congratulates me on itevery day."

  "Then you like the convent?"

  "I embrace with pleasure a solitary life."

  "Nothing remains which attracts you back to the world?"

  "Nothing!"

  "Mon dieu!" thought the queen; "shall I fail? If nothing else willsucceed, I must have recourse to entreaties; to beg her to accept M. deCharny--heavens, how unhappy I am!--Andree," she said, "what you saytakes from me the hope I had conceived."

  "What hope, madame?"

  "Oh! if you are as decided as you appear to be, it is useless to speak."

  "If your majesty would explain----"

  "You never regret what you have done?"

  "Never, madame."

  "Then it is superfluous to speak; and I yet hoped to make you happy."

  "Me?"

  "Yes, you, ingrate; but you know best your inclinations."

  "Still, if your majesty would tell me----"

  "Oh, it is simple; I wished you to return to court."

  "Never!"

  "You refuse me?"

  "Oh, madame, why should you wish me?--sorrowful, poor, despised, avoidedby every one, incapable of inspiring sympathy in either sex! Ah,madame, and dear mistress, leave me here to become worthy to be acceptedby God, for even He would reject me at present."

  "But," said the queen, "what I was about to propose to you would haveremoved all these humiliations of which you complain. A marriage, whichwould have made you one of our great ladies."

  "A marriage?" stammered Andree.

  "Yes."

  "Oh, I refuse, I refuse!"

  "Andree!" cried the queen, in a supplicating voice.

  "Ah, no, I refuse!"

  Marie Antoinette prepared herself, with a fearfully-palpitating heart,for her last resource; but as she hesitated, Andree said, "But, madame,tell me the name of the man who is willing to think of me as hiscompanion for life."

  "M. de Charny," said the queen, with an effort.

  "M. de Charny?"----

  "Yes, the nephew of M. de Suffren."

  "It is he!" cried Andree, with burning cheeks, and sparkling eyes; "heconsents----"

  "He asks you in marriage."

  "Oh, I accept, I accept, for I love him."

  The queen became livid, and sank back trembling, whilst Andree kissedher hands, bathing them with her tears. "Oh, I am ready," murmured she.

  "Come, then!" cried the queen, who felt as though her strength wasfailing her, with a last effort to preserve appearances.

  Andree left the room to prepare. Then Marie Antoinette cried, withbitter sobs, "Oh, mon Dieu! how can one heart bear so much suffering?and yet I should be thankful, for does it not save my children andmyself from shame?"