Part 118 (1/2)
”It seems to me, madame, that you have no consent to ask save that of your own bright eyes. If they promise to remain open all night, you have no one to consult on the subject but yourself.”
”I thank your majesty,” said the queen. ”And now, as none of the company were able to solve my riddle, all must prepare to sit up with me. May I hope, sire, that you will be magnanimous enough to relinquish the right you have earned to retire, and afford me the happiness of your presence also?”
Louis looked quite discomfited, and was about to stammer out some awkward reply, when the marshal of the household threw open the doors of the banquet-hall, and approaching the king, cried out, ”Le roi est servi.”
”Ah!” said he, much relieved, ”let us refresh ourselves for the vigil.”
Dinner over, the company promenaded in the gardens for an hour, and then returned to the drawing-room to await the compulsory privilege of seeing the sun rise. Marie Antoinette, with the impatience of a child, was continually going out upon the terrace to see how the night waned; but the moon was up, and the gardens of Marly were bathed in a silver lizht that was any thing but indicative of the dawn of day.
The scene was so calm and lovely, that the young queen returned to the drawing-room in search of the king, hoping to woo him to the enjoyment of the beautiful nature, which was elevating her thoughts far above the kingdoms of earth and peacefully leading her heart to Heaven. But the king was nowhere to be seen, and as she was seeking him first in one room, then in another, she met the Count de Provence.
”I am charged, madame,” said he, ”with an apology from the king. His majesty begs that you will pardon him for making use of his right to retire. He hopes that your majesty will not enjoy your night the less for his absence.” [Footnote: Campan vol. i., p 38]
The queen colored to her brows, and her expressive face gave token of serious annoyance. She was about to dismiss the company, saying that she had changed her mind, but she remembered that by so doing she might become the subject of the ridicule of the court. Her pride whispered her to remain, and smothered her instinctive sense of propriety. She looked anxiously around for Madame de Noailles, but on the first occasion, when her advice might have been welcome, she was absent. She had been told that etiquette had nothing to do with the queen's party of pleasure, and she, like the king, had retired to rest.
Marie Antoinette then motioned to her first lady of honor, the Princess de Chimay, and requested her to say to Madame de Noailles that her presence would be required in the drawing-room at two o'clock, when the court would set out for the hill, from whence they would witness the dawn of the morrow.
”It is an unconscionable time coming,” yawned the Countess de Provence.
”See, my dear sister, the hand of the clock points to midnight. What are we to do in the interim?” asked she, peevishly.
”Propose something to while away the time,” said the queen, smiling.
”Let us depute D'Artois to do it. He is readier at such things than the rest of us,” said the princess.
”Does your majesty second the proposal?” asked D'Artois.
”I do with all my heart.”
”Then,” said the thoughtless prince, ”I propose that we play the most innocent and rollicking of games--blindman's buff.” [Footnote: Campan, vol. i., p. 95.]
A shout of laughter, in which the young queen joined, was the response to this proposition.
”I was charged with the duty of relieving the tedium of the court,”
continued the prince gravely. ”I once more propose the exciting game of blindman's buff.” [Footnote: This game was frequently played in the courtly circles, and not only in aristocratic houses, but in all social gatherings. It became the fas.h.i.+on. Madame de Gonlis, who was fond of scourging the follies of her day, made this fas.h.i.+on the subject of one of her dramas.]
”We are bound to accede,” replied the queen, forgetting her embarra.s.sment of the moment before. ”Let us try to recall the happy days of our childhood. Let us play blindman's buff until the sun rises and transforms the children of the night once more into earnest and reasoning mortals.”
CHAPTER CII.
THE FOLLOWING DAY.
The queen was alone in her cabinet, which she had not left since she had seen the sun rise. She had taken cold in the garden, and as a souvenir of the event, had carried home a fever and a cough. But it was not indisposition alone which blanched her cheeks. Something mightier than fever glowed in her flas.h.i.+ng eyes, something more painful than malady threw that deadly paleness over her sweet, innocent face. From time to time she glanced at a paper lying on the table before her, and every time her eye fell upon it her brow grow darker.
There was a knock at the door. She started, and murmuring--”The king!”--she flung her handkerchief over the papers, and throwing back her head, compelled herself to calmness; while her husband, lifting the silken portiere, advanced toward the table. She tried to rise, but Louis came hastily to prevent it, saying: ”I come to make inquiries concerning your health; but if my presence is to disturb you, I shall retire.”
”Remain, then, sire--I will not rise,” said the queen, with a languid smile.
”Are you still suffering?” said Louis.