 Chapter 67 of The Queen's Necklace by Alexandre Dumas. The translator is unknown. The slipper fox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Gael Timmerman Vaughn. Chapter 67 Woman and Demon. Jean had remarked the trouble of Charny, the solicitude of the queen and the eagerness of both for a conversation. After what we have already told of the meetings between Jean and Oliva, our readers will have been at no loss to understand the scenes in the park. Jean, when she came into the queen, watched her closely, hoping to gather something from her. But Marie Antoinette was beginning to learn caution, and she guarded herself carefully. Jean was therefore reduced to conjectures. She had already ordered one of her footmen to follow Monsieur de Charny. The man reported that he had gone into a house at the end of the park. There is then no more doubt, ha Jean. It is a lover who has seen everything it is clear. I should be a fool not to understand. I must undo what I have done. On leaving Versailles she drove to the Rue Saint-Claude. There she found a superb present of plate, sent to her by the cardinal. She then drove to his house, and found him radiant with joy and pride. On her entrance he ran to meet her, calling her Dear Countess, and full of protestations and gratitude. Thank you also for your charming present. You are more than a happy man. You are a triumphant victor. Countess, it frightens me. It is too much. Jean smiled. You come from Versailles. Continued he. Yes. You have seen her. I have just left her. And she said nothing. What do you expect that she said? Oh, I am insatiable. Well, you had better not ask. You frighten me. Is anything wrong? Have I come to the height of my happiness, and is the descent to begin? You are very fortunate not to have been discovered. Oh, with precautions and the intelligence of two hearts and one mind, that will not prevent eyes seeing through the trees. We have been seen? I fear so. And recognized. Oh, Monseigneur, if this secret had been known to any one, Jean de Valois would be out of the kingdom and you would be dead. You would tell me quickly. They have seen people walking in the park. Is there any harm in that? Ask the king. The king knows? I repeat to you. If the king knew you would be in the Bastille, but I advise you not to tempt Providence again. What do you mean, dear Countess? Do you not understand? I fear to understand, he replied. I shall fear, if you do not promise, to go no more to Versailles. By day or by night? Impossible. Why so, Monseigneur? Because I have in my heart a love which will end only with my life. Ha! So I perceive, replied she ironically, and it is to arrive more quickly at this result that you persist in returning to the park, for most assuredly, if you do, your love and your life will end together. Oh, Countess, how fearful you are. You who were so brave yesterday. I am always brave when there is no danger. But I have the bravery of my race, and am happier in the presence of danger. But permit me to tell you—no, Countess, the die is cast—death, if it comes, but first—love. I shall return to Versailles. Alone, then, you abandon me, and not I alone. She will come. You deceive yourself, she will not come. Is that what you were sent to tell me? It is what I have been preparing you for. You will see me no more. Never, and it is I who have counseled it. Madame, do not plunge the knife into my heart, cried he, in a doleful voice. There would be much more cromance in your to let two foolish people destroy themselves, for want of a little good advice. Countess, I would rather die. As regards yourself, that is easy, but subject you dare not to throne your queen. Man you will not destroy a woman. I would confess that you do not come in her name, that she does not throw me off. I speak in her name. It is only a delay, she asks. Take it as you wish, but obey her orders. The park is not the only place of meeting. There are a hundred safer spots. The queen can come to you, for instance. Monsignor, not a word more. The weight of your secret is too much for me, and I believe her capable, in a fit of remorse, of confessing all to the king. Good God, impossible. If you saw her, you would pity her. What can I do then? Ensure your safety by your silence. But she will think I have forgotten her and accuse me of being a coward. To save her. Can a woman forgive him who abandons her? Do not judge her like others. I believe her great and strong. I love her for her courage and her noble heart. She may count on me as I do on her. Once more I will see her, lay bare my heart to her, and whatever she then commands, I will sacredly obey. Jean Rose, go then, said she, but go alone. I have thrown the key of the park into the river. You can go to Versailles. I shall go to Switzerland or Holland. The further off I am when the shell bursts, the better. Countess, you abandon me. With whom shall I talk of her? Oh! You have the park and the echoes. You can teach them her name. Because pity me, I am in despair. Well, well, but do not act in so childish and dangerous a manner. If you love her so much, guard her name. And if you are not totally without gratitude, do not involve in your ruin those who have served you through friendship. Swear to me not to attempt to see or speak to her for a fortnight, and I will remain, and may yet be of service to you. But if you decide to brave all, I shall leave at once, and you must extricate yourself as you can. It is dreadful, murmured the Cardinal. The fall from so much happiness is overwhelming. I shall die of it. Suffering is always the consequence of love. Come on, senior, decide. It might or remain here, or start for Luzan. Remain, Countess. You swear to amame me. On the faith of Arroin. Good. Well, then, I forbid interviews, but not letters. Really? Am I right? Yes. And she will answer. Try. The Cardinal kissed John's hand again, and called her his guardian angel. The demon within her must have laughed. End of Chapter 67 Chapter 68 of the Queen's Necklace, by Alexandre Dumas. The translator is unknown. The slip of rucks recording is in the public domain. Recording by Gail Timmerman Vaughn. Chapter 68. The Night. That day, at four o'clock, a man on horseback stopped in the outskirts of the park, just behind the baths of Apollo, where Monsieur de Rouen used to wait. He got off and looked at the places where the grass had been trodden down. Here are the traces, thought he. It is, as I supposed. Monsieur de Charny has returned for a fortnight, and this is where he enters the park. And he sighed. Leave him to his happiness. God gives to one, and denies to the other. But I will have proof to-night. I will hide in the bushes, and see what happens. As for Charny, obedient to the Queen's commands, he waited for orders. But it was half-past ten, and no one appeared. He waited with impatient anxiety. Then he began to think she had deceived him, and had promised what she did not mean to perform. How could I be so foolish, I, who saw her, to be taken in by her words and promises? At last he saw a figure approaching, wrapped in a large black mantle, and he uttered a cry of joy, for he recognized the Queen. He ran to her and fell at her feet. Ah, here you are, sir. It is well. Ah, madame, I scarcely hoped you were coming. Have you your sword? Yes, madame. Where did you say those people came in? By this door. At what time? At midnight each time. There is no reason why they should not come again to-night. You have not spoken to any one? To no one. Come into the thick wood and let us watch. I have not spoken of this, to miss you to Cosna. I have already mentioned this creature to him, and if she be not arrested, he is either incapable or in league with my enemies. It seems incredible that any one should dare to play such tricks under my eyes, unless they were sure of impunity, and therefore I think it is time to take the care of my reputation on myself. What do you think? Oh, madame, allow me to be silent. I am ashamed of all I have said. At least you were an honest man, replied the Queen, and speak to the accused face to face. You do not stab in the dark. Oh, madame, it is eleven o'clock. I tremble. Look about that no one is here. Shani obeyed. No one, said he. Where did the scenes pass that you have described? Oh, madame, I had a shock when I returned to you, for she stood just where you are at this moment. Here, cried the Queen, leaving the place with disgust. Yes, madame, under the chestnut tree. Then, sir, let us move, for they will most likely come here again. He followed the Queen to a different place. She, silent and proud, waited for the proof of her innocence to appear. Midnight struck, the door did not open, half an hour passed, during which the Queen asked ten times if they had always been punctual. Three quarters struck. The Queen stamped with impatience. They will not come, she cried. These misfortunes only happened to me. And she looked at Shani, ready to quarrel with him, if she saw any expression of triumph or irony. But he, as his suspicions began to return, grew so pale and looked so melancholy that he was like the figure of a martyr. At last she took his arm and let him under the chestnut tree. You say, she murmured, that it was here you saw her. Yes, madame, here that she gave the rose. And the Queen, fatigued and wearied with waiting, and disappointment leaned against the tree, and covered her face with her hands. But Shani could see the tears stealing through. At last she raised her head. Sir, said she, I am condemned. I promised to prove to you to-day that I was culminated. God does not permit it, and I submit. I have done what no other woman, not to say Queen, would have done. What a Queen, who cannot reign over one heart, who cannot obtain the esteem of one honest man. Come, sir, give me your arm, if you do not despise me too much. Oh, madame, cried he, falling at her feet. If I were only an unhappy man who loves you, could you not pardon me? You, cried she, with a bitter laugh. You love me, and believe me, infamous. Oh, madame, you accuse me of giving roses, kisses, and love. No, sir, no falsehoods, you do not love me. Madame, I saw these phantoms, pity me, for I am on the rack. She took his hands, yes, you saw, and you think it was I? Well, if here under this same tree, you at my feet, I press your hands, and say to you, Miss you to Shani, I love you, I have loved you, and shall love no one else in this world, may God pardon me, will that convince you? Will you believe me then? As she spoke, she came so close to him that he felt her breath on his lips. Oh, cried Shani, now I am ready to die. Give me your arm, said she, and teach me where they went, and where she gave the rose. And she took from her bosom a rose, and held it to him. He took it, and pressed it to his heart. Then continued she. The other gave him her hand to kiss. Both her hands cried Shani, pressing his burning lips passionately on hers. Now they visited the baths, so will we. Follow me to the place. He followed her, like a man in a strange happy dream. They looked all round, then opened the door, and walked through. Then they came out again. Two o'clock struck. Adieu, she said, go home until to-morrow. Then she walked away quickly towards the chateau. When they were gone a man rose, from among the bushes. He had heard, and seen all. End of CHAPTER sixty-eight CHAPTER sixty-nine of the Queen's necklace by Alexandre Dumas. The translator is unknown. This Libor Vox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Gail Timmerman Vaughn. CHAPTER sixty-nine. Le Conchet. The Queen went to mass the next day, which was Sunday, smiling and beautiful. When she woke in the morning she said, It is a lovely day, it makes me happy only to live. She seemed full of joy and was generous and gracious to everyone. The road was lined as usual on her return with ladies and gentlemen. Among them were Madame de la Mort and Monsieur de Charny, who was complimented by many friends on his return, and on his radiant good looks. Glancing round he saw Philippe standing near him, whom he had not seen since the day of the duel. Madame said Charny, passing through the crowd, Allow me to fulfill an act of politeness. And advancing toward Philippe he said, Allow me, Monsieur de Charny, to thank you now for the interest you have taken in my health. I shall have the honour to pay you a visit to-morrow. I trust you preserve no enmity towards me. None, sir, replied Philippe. Charny held out his hand but Philippe, without seeming to notice it, said, Here comes the Queen, sir. As she approached she fixed her looks on Charny, with that rash openness which she always showed in her affections. While she said to several gentlemen who were pressing around her, Ask me what you please, gentlemen, for today I can refuse nothing. A voice said, Madame. She turned round and saw Philippe, and thus found herself between two men of whom she almost reproached herself with loving one too much and the other too little. Monsieur de Charny, you have something to ask me. Pray speak. Only ten minutes' audience at your Majesty's leisure, replied he, with great solemnity. Immediately, sir, follow me. A quarter of an hour after, Philippe was introduced into the library where the Queen waited for him. Ah, Monsieur de Charny, enter! said she in a gay tone, and do not look so sorrowful. Do you know I feel rather frightened whenever a Charny asks for an audience? Ensure me quickly, and tell me that you are not also come to announce a misfortune. Madame, this time I bring only good news. Oh, some news. Alas, yes, your Majesty. There an alas, again. Madame, I am about to assure your Majesty that you need never again fear to be saddened by the sight of a taffane, for Madame, the last of this family, to whom you once deigned to show some kindness, is about to leave the court of France forever. The Queen, dropping her gay tone, said, You leave us? Yes, your Majesty. You also? Philippe bowed. My sister, Madame, has already had that grief. I am much more useless to your Majesty. The Queen started as she remembered that André had asked for her concher on the day following her first visit to Charny in the doctor's apartments. It is strange, she murmured, as Philippe remained motionless as a statue, waiting his dismissal. Alas, she said it abruptly. Where are you going? To join Monsieur de la Peruse, Madame. He is at Newfoundland. I have prepared to join him there. Do you know that a frightful death has been predicted for him? A speedy one, replied Philippe. That is not necessarily a frightful one. And you are really going. Yes, Madame, to share his fate. The Queen was silent for a time and then said, Why do you go? Because I am anxious to travel. But you have already made the tour of the world. Of the New World, Madame, but not of the old. A race of iron with hearts of steel. Are you taffanes? You and your sister are terrible people. You go not for the sake of travelling, but to leave me. Your sister said she was called by religious duty. It was a pretext. However, she wished to go and she went. May she be happy. You might be happy here, but you also wish to go away. Spare us, I pray, Madame. If you could read our hearts, you would find them full of unlimited devotion towards you. Oh, cried the Queen. You are too exacting. She takes the world for a heaven where one should only live as a saint and you look upon it as a hell and both fly from it. She, because she finds what she does not seek and you, because you do not find what you do seek. Am I not right? Oh, monsieur de taffanes. Allow human beings to be imperfect and do not expect royalty to be superhuman. Be more tolerant or rather less egotistical. She spoke earnestly and continued. All I know is that I loved André and that she left me, that I valued you and you were about to do the same. It is humiliating to see two such people abandon my court. Nothing can humiliate persons like your Majesty. Shame does not reach those places so high. What has wounded you, asked the Queen. Nothing, Madame. Your rank has been raised, your fortune was progressing. I can but repeat to your Majesty, though the court does not please me. And if I ordered you to stay here, I should have the grief of disobeying your Majesty. Oh, I know, cried she impatiently. You bear malice, you quarreled with a gentleman here, monsieur de taffanes, and wounded him. And because you see him return today, you are jealous and wish to leave. Philippe turned pale but replied, Madame, I saw him sooner than you imagine, for I met him at two o'clock this morning, by the baths of Apollo. It was now the Queen's time to grow pale, but she felt a kind of admiration for one who had retained so much courtesy and self-command in the midst of his anger and grief. Go, murmured she at length, in a faint voice. I will keep you no longer. Philippe bowed and left the room, while the Queen sank terrified and overwhelmed on the sofa. End of Chapter 69. Chapter 70 of the Queen's Necklace by Alexandre Dumas. The translator is unknown. This Libor Vox recording is in the public domain, recording by Gail Timmerman Vaughn. Chapter 70, The Jealousy of the Cardinal. The Cardinal passed three nights very different to those when he went to the park, and which he constantly lived over again in his memory. No news of anyone, no hope of a visit, nothing but a dead silence and perfect darkness after such brightness and happiness. He began to fear that after all, his sacrifice had been displeasing to the Queen. His uneasiness became insupportable. He sent 10 times in one day to Madame de Lamotte. The 10th messenger brought Jean to him. On seeing her he cried out, How? You live so tranquilly. You know my anxiety and you, my friend, never come near me. Oh, Monsignor Patience, I beg. I have been far more useful to you at Versailles than I could have been here. Tell me, replied he. What does she say? Is she less cruel? Absence is equal pain, whether born at Versailles or at Paris. Oh, I thank you, but the proofs. Proofs? Are you in your senses, Monsignor, to ask a woman for proofs of her own infidelity? I'm not speaking of proofs for a lawsuit, Countess, only a token of love. It seems to me that you are either very exacting or very forgetful. Oh, I know you will tell me that I might be more than satisfied, but judged by yourself, Countess. Would you like to be thrown on one side after having received assurances of favor? Assurances? Oh, certainly I have nothing to complain of, but still I cannot be answerable for unreasonable discontents. Countess, you treat me ill. Instead of reproaching me for my folly, you should try to aid me. I cannot aid you, I see nothing to do. Nothing to do? No. Well, Madame, I do not say the same. Ah, Monsignor, anger will not help you, and besides, you are unjust. No, Countess, if you do not assist me any longer, I know it is because you cannot. Only tell me the truth at once. What truth? That the Queen is a perfidious coquette who makes the people adore her and then drives them to despair. Jean looked at him with an air of surprise, although she had expected him to arrive at this state, and she felt really pleased, for she thought that it would help her out of her difficult position. Explain yourself, she said. Confess that the Queen refuses to see me. I do not say so, Monsignor. She wishes to keep me away unless I rouse the suspicions of some other lover. Ah, Monsignor, cried Jean in a tone, which gave him liberty to suspect anything. Listen, continued he. The last time I saw her, I thought I heard steps in the wood. Fully. And I suspect. Say no more, Monsignor. It is an insult to the Queen, besides. Even if it were true that she fears the surveillance of another lover, why should you reproach her with a past, which she has sacrificed to you? But if this past be again a present and about to be a future, five months in your suspicions are offensive, both to the Queen and to me. Then count us, bring me a proof. Does she love me at all? It is very simple, replied Jean, pointing to his writing-table, to ask her. You will give her a note. Who else would, if not I? And you will bring me an answer, if possible. Ah, now you are a good creature, Countess. He sat down, but though he was an eloquent writer, he commenced and destroyed a dozen sheets of paper before he satisfied himself. If you go on so, you will never have done, said Jean. You see, Countess, I fear my own tenderness, lest I displease the Queen. Oh, replied Jean. If you write a business letter, you will get one in reply. That is your own affair. You are right, Countess. You always see what is best. He then wrote a letter so full of loving reproaches and ardent protestations that Jean, when he gave it to her to read, thought, he has written of his own accord what I never should have dared to dictate. Will it do, asked he. If she loves you, you will see tomorrow. Till then, be quiet. Till tomorrow then. On a return home, Jean gave way to her reflections. This letter was just what she wanted. How could the cardinal ever accuse her when he was called on to pay for the necklace? Even admitting that the Queen and the cardinal met and that everything was explained, how could they turn against her, while she held in her hands such proofs of a scandalous secret? No, they must let her go quietly off with her fortune of a million and a half of francs. They would know she had stolen the diamonds, but they never would publish all this affair. And if one letter was not enough, she would have seven or eight. The first explosion would come from the jewelers who would claim their money. Then she must confess to Monsieur de Rouen and make him pay by threatening to publish his letters. Surely they would purchase the honor of a Queen and a Prince of the price of a million and a half. The jewelers once paid that question was at an end. Jean felt sure of her fortune. She knew that the cardinal had a conviction so firm that nothing could shake it that he had met the Queen. There was but one living witness against her and that one she would soon cause to disappear. Arrived at this point, she went to the window and saw Oliva, who was watching in her balcony. She made the accustomed sign for her to come down and Oliva replied joyfully. The great thing now was to get rid of her to destroy the instrument that has served them in the constant endeavor of those who intrigue. But here it is that they generally fail. They do not succeed in doing so before there has been time to disclose the secret. Jean knew that Oliva would not be easy to get rid of unless she could think of something that would induce her to fly willingly. Oliva, on her part, much as she enjoyed her nocturnal promenades at first, after so much confinement, was already beginning to weary of them and decide once more for liberty and bossire. The night came and they went out together. Oliva disguised under a large cloak and hood and Jean dressed as a grisette. Besides which the carriage bore the respectable arms of Valois, which prevented the police, who alone might have recognized Oliva, from searching it. Oh, I have been so ennuié, cried Oliva. I have been expecting you so long. It was impossible to come and see you. I should have run and made you run a great danger. How so? said Oliva, astonished. A terrible danger which I still tremble. You know how ennuié you were and how much you wish to go out. Yes, and you assisted me like a friend. Certainly I proposed that we should have some amusement with that officer who was rather mad and in love with a queen, whom you resemble a little and endeavored to persuade him that it was the queen he was walking with. Yes, said Oliva, the first two nights you walked in the park and you played your part to perfection. He was quite taken in. Yes, said Oliva, but it was almost a pity to deceive him poor fellow. He was so delighted. Yes, but the evil is not there. To give a man a rose, to let him kiss your hands and call you your majesty was all good fun. But my little Oliva, it seems you did not stop there. Oliva coloured. How, stammered she. There was a third interview. Yes, replied Oliva hastily. You know for you were there. Excuse me, dear friend, I was there, but at a distance I neither saw nor heard what had passed within. I only know what you told me that he talked and kissed your hands. Oh, mon Dieu, murmured Oliva. You surely could not have exposed us both to such a terrible danger without telling me of it. Oliva trembled from head to foot. Jean continued. How could I imagine that you, who said you loved M. Bocière, and were courted by a man like Count Cagliostro, whom you refused? Oh, it cannot be true. But where is the danger? Asked Oliva. The danger? Have we not to manage a madman, one who fears nothing and will not be controlled? It was no great thing for the Queen to give him her hand to kiss, or to give him a rose. Oh, my dear child, I have not smiled since I heard this. What do you fear? Asked Oliva, her teeth chattering with terror. Why, as you are not the Queen, and have taken her name, and in her name have committed a folly of this kind, it is unfortunately treason. He has no proof of this. They may be satisfied with a prison, or banishment. A prison? Banishment! shrieked Oliva. I at least intend to take precautions and hide myself. You fear also? Oh, well not this madman divulge my share also. My poor Oliva, this trick of yours will cost us dear. Oliva burst into tears. Oh! she cried. I think I am possessed of a demon that I can never rest, save from one danger, I must rush into another. Suppose I confess all to my protector, a fine story to confess to him, whose advantage you refused, that you have committed this imprudence with a stranger. Oh, dear, you are right. Soon this report will spread and will reach his ears. Then do you not think he will give you up to the police, even if he only send you away? What will become of you? Oh! I am lost. And miss you both see her when he shall hear of this. Oliva started, and ringing her hands violently cried out, Oh! he would kill me, but no, I will kill myself. You cannot save me, since you were compromised also. I have, replied John, in the farthest part of Picardy a little farm. If you can gain this refuge you might be safe. But you? Oh! once you were gone I should not fear him. I will go whenever you like. I think you are wise. Must I go at once? Wait till I have prepared everything to ensure safety, meanwhile hide yourself, and do not come near the window. Oh! yes, dear friend. And to begin let us go home as there is no more to say. How long will your preparations take? I do not know but remember henceforth, until the day of your departure I shall not come to the window. When you see me there you will know that the day has arrived, and be prepared. They returned in silence, unarriving Oliva begged pardon humbly of her friend for bringing her into so much danger through her folly. I am a woman, replied John, and can pardon a woman's weakness. CHAPTER 71 The Flight Oliva kept her promise, and John also. Oliva hid herself from everyone, and John made her preparations in a few days, made her appearance at the window, as assigned to Oliva to be ready that evening for flight. Oliva, divided between joy and terror, began immediately to prepare. John went to arrange about the carriage that was to convey her away. Eleven o'clock at night had just struck when John arrived with a post shezz to which three strong horses were harnessed. A man, wrapped in a cloak, sat on the box, directing the postiliens. John made them stop at the corner of the street, saying, remain here, half an hour will suffice, and then I will bring the person whom you are to conduct with all possible speed to Amiens. There you will give her into the care of the farmer who is my tenant. He has his instructions. Yes, madame. I forgot. Are you armed? This lady is menaced by a madman. He might perhaps try to stop her on the road. What should I do? Fire on anyone who tries to impede your journey. Yes, madame. You asked me, seventy Louis, I will give you a hundred and will pay the expenses of the voyage which you had better make to London. Do not return here. It is more prudent for you to go to Saint Valarie and embark at once for England. Rely on me, madame. Will I go and bring the lady? All seemed to sleep in that quiet house. John lighted the lamp, which was to be the signal to Oliva, but received no answering sign. She would come down in the dark, thought John, and she went to the door, but it did not open. Oliver was perhaps bringing down her packages. The fool, remember the countess. How much time is she wasting over her rubbish? She waited a quarter of an hour, no one came, and half past eleven struck. Perhaps she did not see my signal, thought John, and she went up, and lighted it again, but it was not acknowledged. She must be ill, cried John, in a rage, and cannot move. Then she took a key which Oliver had given her, but just as she was about to open the door she thought, suppose someone should be there, but I should hear voices on the staircase, and could return. I must risk something. She went up, and on arriving outside Oliver's door she saw a light inside, and heard footsteps, but no voices. It is all right, she thought. She was only a long time getting ready. Oliva, she said softly, opened the door. The door opened and John found herself face to face with a man holding a torch in his hand. Oliva said he is this you. Then with a tone of admirably feigned surprise cried, Madame de la Motte. Monsieur de Cagliostro. Said she in terror, feeling half unkind to run away, but he took her hand politely and begged her to sit down. To what do I owe the honour of this visit, Madame? Monsieur, said she stammering, I came, I sought. Allow me, Madame, to enquire which of my servants was guilty of the rudeness of letting you come up unattended. John trembled. You must have fallen to the lot of my stupid German porter who is always tipsy. Do not scold him. I beg you, sir, replied John, who could hardly speak. But was it he? I believe so, but you promised me not to scold him. I will not. Only, Madame, will you now explain to me? John began to gather courage. I came to consult you, sir, about certain reports. What reports? Do not hurry me, sir, it is a delicate subject. Ah, you want time to invent, thought he. Are you a friend of Monsieur de Cagliostro? I am acquainted with him, Madame. Well, I came to ask you. What? Oh, sir, you must know that he has shown me much kindness, and I wish to know if I may rely upon it. You understand me, sir? You read all hearts. You must be a little more explicit, before I can assist you, Madame. This year they say that his eminence loves elsewhere in a high quarter. Madame, allow me first to ask you one question. How did you come to seek me here, since I do not live here? John trembled. How did you get in, for there are neither porter nor servants in this part of my hotel? It could not be me you sought here. Who was it? You do not reply. I must aid you a little. You came in by the help of a key, which you have now in your pocket. You came to see a young woman, whom from her kindness I had concealed here. John trembled visibly, but replied, if it were so it is no crime. One woman is permitted to visit another. Call her. She will tell you if my friendship is a hurtful one. Madame, you say that, because you know she is not here. Not here? Oliver, not here? Oh, you do not know that. You who helped her to escape? I, cried John, you accuse me of that? I convict you, replied Cagliostra. And he took a paper from the table, and showed her the following words addressed to himself. Monsieur and my generous protector, forgive me for leaving you. Not above all things, I love Monsieur Beaussir. He came, and I follow him. Adieu! Believe in my gratitude. Beaussir! cried John, petrified. He who did not even know her address. Oh, Madame, here is another paper, which was doubtless dropped by Monsieur Beaussir. The Countess read, shuddering. Monsieur Beaussir refined mademoiselle Oliver, Rue Sainte-Claude, at the corner of the boulevard. He had better come for her at once. It is time. It is the advice of a sincere friend. Oh, grown the Countess. And he has taken her away, said Cagliostra. But who wrote this note? Doubtless yourself. But how did he get in? Probably with your key. But as I have it here, he could not have it. Whoever has one can easily have two. You are convinced, replied she, while I can only suspect. She turned and went away, but found the staircase lighted and filled with men's servants. Cagliostra called out loudly before them. Madame la Conteste de la Motte. She went out full of rage and disappointment. End of Chapter 71, Chapter 72 of the Queen's Necklace, by Alexandre Dumas. The translator is unknown. The Slipervox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Gail Timmerman Vaughn. Chapter 72, the letter and the receipt. The day arrived for the payment of the first five hundred thousand francs. The jewellers had prepared a receipt, but no one came with the money in exchange for it. They passed the day and night in a state of cruel anxiety. The following day, M. Bombay went to Versailles and asked to see the Queen. He was told that he could not be admitted without a letter of audience. However he begged so hard and urged his solicitation so well among the servants that they consented to place him in the Queen's way when she went out. Marie-Antoinette, still full of joy from her interview with Charny, came along looking bright and happy when she caught sight of the somewhat solemn face of M. Bombay. She smiled at him, which he took for a favourable sign, and asked for an audience which was promised him for two o'clock. On his return to Bossange they agreed that no doubt the money was all right, only the Queen had been unable to send it the day before. At two o'clock Bombay returned to Versailles. What is it now, M. Bombay, asked the Queen as he entered? Bombay thought someone must be listening, and looked cautiously around him. Have you any secret to tell, asked the Queen in surprise? The same as before, I suppose, some jewels to sell, but make yourself easy no one can hear you. Ahem, murmured Bombay, startled at his reception. Well, what? Then I may speak out to your Majesty. Anything, only be quick. I only wish to say that your Majesty probably forgot us yesterday. Forgot you? What do you mean? Yesterday the sum was due. What sum? Pardon me, your Majesty, if I am indiscreet. Perhaps your Majesty is not prepared. It would be a misfortune, but still. But, interrupted the Queen, I do not understand a word of what you are saying. Pray explain yourself. Yesterday the purse payment for the necklace was due. Have you sold it, then? Many your Majesty replied Bombay, looking stupefied. And those to whom you have sold it have not paid, my poor Bombay? So much the worse, but they must do as I did, and if they cannot pay send it back to you again. The jeweler staggered like a man who had just had a sunstroke. I do not understand your Majesty, he said. Why, Bombay, if ten purchasers were each to send it back, and give you one hundred thousand francs as I did, you would make a million and keep your necklace also. Your Majesty says, cried Bombay, ready to drop, that you sent me back the necklace. Certainly, what is the matter? What? Your Majesty denies having bought the necklace. Ah, what comedy is this, sir? Said the Queen severely. Is this unlucky necklace destined to turn someone's brain? But did your Majesty really say that you had returned the necklace? Happily, replied the Queen. I can refresh your memory, as you are so forgetful, to say nothing more. She went to her secretaire, and taking out the receipt showed it to him, saying, I suppose this is clear enough. Bombay's expression changed from incredulity to terror. Madame, cried he, I never signed this receipt. You deny it, said the Queen, with flashing eyes. Positively, if I lose my life for it, I never received the necklace, I never signed the receipt. Were the headsmen here, or the gallows, I would repeat the same thing. Well, sir, said the Queen, do you think I have robbed you? Do you think I have your necklace? Bombay drew out a pocketbook, and in his turn produced a letter. I do not believe, said he, that if your Majesty had wished to return the necklace, you would have written this. I write? I never wrote to you. That is not my writing. It is signed, said Bombay. Yes, Marie Antoinette of France. You are mad. Do you think that is the way I sign? I am of Austria. Go, Monsieur Bombay, you have played this game unskillfully. Your forgers have not understood their work. My forgers, cried the poor Bombay, ready to faint at this new blow. You suspect me? You accuse me, Marie Antoinette, replied she, with this letter, this receipt. Give it me back and take your letter. The first lawyer you ask will tell you how much that is worth. And taking their receipt from his trembling hands and throwing the letter indignantly down, he left the room. The unfortunate man ran to communicate this dreadful blow to his partner, who was waiting in the carriage for him, and on their way home their gestures and cries of grief were so frantic as to attract the attention of every passer-by. Alas, they decided to return to Versailles. Immediately they presented themselves. They were admitted by the Order of the Queen. CHAPTER 73 You have brought a reinforcement, Monsieur Bombay, so much the better. Bombay kneeled at her feet and Bossange followed his example. Gentlemen, said she, I have now grown calm and an idea has come into my head which has modified my opinion with regard to you. It seems to me that we have both been duped. Ah, madame, you suspect me no longer. Forger was a dreadful word. No, I do not suspect you now. Does your Majesty suspect anyone else? Reply to my questions. You say you have not these diamonds? No madame, we have not. It then matters little to you that I sent them. That is my affair. Did you not see madame de la mort? Yes, madame, and she gave you nothing from me. No madame, she only said to us, wait. But this letter, who brought it? An unknown messenger during the night. She rang, and a servant entered. Sent for madame de la mort and—continue the Queen to Monsieur Bombay. Did you see Monsieur de Rouen? Yes, madame, he paid us a visit in order to ask. Good! Said the Queen. I wish to hear no more now, but if he be mixed up with this affair I think you need not despair. I think I can guess what madame de la mort meant by saying wait. Meanwhile, go to Monsieur de Rouen and tell him all you have told us, and then I know it. The jewelers had a renewed spark of hope. Only Boursange said that the receipt was a false one and that that was a crime. True, replied Marie Antoinette, if you did not write it, it is a crime. But to prove this I must confront you with a person who might charge to return you the jewels. Whenever your Majesty pleases, we do not fear the test. Go first to Monsieur de Rouen, he alone can enlighten you. And will your Majesty permit us to bring you his answer? Yes, but I daresay I shall know all before you do. When they were gone she was restless and unquiet, and dispatched courier after courier from madame de la mort. We will however leave her for the present and follow the jewelers in their search after the truth. The cardinal was at home reading, with a rage impossible to describe, a little note which madame de la mort had just sent him, as she said, from Versailles. It was harsh forbidding any hope, ordering him to think no more of the past, not to appear again at Versailles, and ending with an appeal to his loyalty, not to attempt to renew relations, which were become impossible. Coquette, capricious, perfidious, cried he, here are four letters which she has written to me, each more unjust and tyrannical than the other. She encouraged me only for a caprice and now sacrifices me to a new one. It was at this moment that the jewelers presented themselves. Three times he refused them admittance, and each time the servant came back saying that they would not go without an audience. Let them come in, then, said he. What means this rudeness, gentlemen? No one owes you anything here. The jewelers driven to despair made a half-menacing gesture. Are you mad? asked the cardinal. Monseigneur, replied Bombay, was a scy. Do us justice, and do not compel us to be rude to an illustrious prince. Either you are not mad, in which case my servants shall throw you out of the window, or you are mad, and they shall simply push you out of the door. Monseigneur, we are not mad, but we have been robbed. What is that to me? I am not the lieutenant of police. But you have had the necklace in your hands, and in justice. The necklace? Is it the necklace that has stolen? Yes, Monseigneur. Well, what does the queen say about it? She sent me to you. She is very amiable, but what can I do, my poor fellows? You can tell us, Monseigneur, what has been done with it. I? Doubtless. Do you think I stole the necklace from the queen? It is not the queen from whom it was stolen. Monde, from whom, then? The queen denies having had it in her possession. How? She denies it, but I thought you had an acknowledgment from her. She says it is a forged one. Decidedly you are mad, cried the cardinal. We simply speak the truth. Then she denied it because someone was there. No, Monseigneur. And this is not all. Not only does the queen deny her own acknowledgment, but she produced a receipt from us, purporting that we had received back the necklace. A receipt from you, which is also a forgery, monsieur le cardinal. You know it. A forgery, and I know it. Assurantly, for you came to confirm what Madame de la Motte had said, and you knew that we had sold the necklace to the queen. Come, said the cardinal, this seems a serious affair. This is what I did. First, I bought the necklace of you for her majesty, and paid you one hundred thousand francs. True Monseigneur. Afterwards, you told me that the queen had acknowledged the debt in writing, and fixed the periods of payment. We said so. Will your eminence look at this signature? He looked at it and said directly, Marie Antoinette of France. You have been deceived, gentlemen. This is not her signature. She is of the house of Austria. Madame de la Motte must know the forger and the robber. The cardinal appeared struck with this. He acted like the queen. He rang and said, sent for Madame de la Motte. His servants went after Jean's carriage, which had not long left the hotel. Monsieur Bommet continued, but where is the necklace? How can I tell? cried the cardinal. I gave it to the queen. I know no more. We must have our necklace, or our money, cried the jewelers. Even this is not my business. It is Madame de la Motte, cardinal and despair, who has ruined us. I forbid you to accuse her here. Someone must be guilty. Someone wrote the forged papers. Was it I, asked Monsieur de la Motte, hotly? Monseigneur, we do not wish to say so. Well, who then? Monseigneur, we desire an exclamation. Wait till I have one myself. But Monseigneur, what are we to say to the queen? For she accused us at first. What does she say now? She says that either you or Madame de la Motte has the necklace, for she has not. Well, replied the cardinal, pale with rage and shame. Go and tell her. No. Tell her nothing. There is scandal enough, but to-morrow I officiate at the chapel at Versailles. When I approach the queen, come to us. I will ask her again if she has the necklace, and you shall hear what she replies. If she denies it before me, then gentlemen, I am Heron, and will pay. And with these words pronounced with an indescribable dignity, he dismissed them. CHAPTER SEVENTY-FOUR of the Queen's Necklace by Alexandre Dumas. The next morning about ten o'clock, a carriage bearing the arms of Monsieur de Pretoy entered Versailles. Our readers will not have forgotten that this gentleman was a personal enemy of Monsieur de Rouen, and had long been on the watch for an opportunity of injuring him. He now requested an audience from the king, and was admitted. It is a beautiful day, said Louis to his minister. There's not a cloud in the sky. Sire, I am sorry to bring with me a cloud on your tranquility. Some am I, replied the king, but what is it? I feel very much embarrassed, Sire, more especially as perhaps. This affair naturally concerns the lieutenant of police, rather than myself, for it is a sort of theft. A theft? Well, speak out. Sire, your majesty knows the diamond necklace? Monsieur Beaumase, which the queen refused. Precisely, Sire, said Monsieur de Pretoy, and ignorant of all the mischief he was about to do, he continued. And this necklace has been stolen. Ah, so much the worse, but diamonds are very easy to trace. But Sire, this is not an ordinary theft. It is pretended that the queen has kept the necklace. Oh, she refused it in my presence. Sire, I did not use the right word. The colonies are too gross. Ah, said the king with a smile. I suppose they say now that the queen has stolen the necklace. Sire, replied Monsieur de Pretoy, they say that the queen recommenced the negotiation for the purchase privately, and that the jewelers hold a paper signed by her, acknowledging that she kept it. I need not tell your majesty how much I despise all such scandalous falsehoods. They say this, said the king turning pale. What do they not say? Had the queen really bought it afterwards, I should not have blamed her. She is a woman, and the necklace is marvelously beautiful, and thank God, she could still afford it if she wished for it. I shall only blame her for one thing, for hiding her wishes from me. But that has nothing to do with the king, only with the husband. A husband may scold his wife if he pleases, and no one has a right to interfere. But then, continued he, what do you mean by a robbery? Oh, I fear I have made your majesty angry. The king laughed. Come, tell me all. Tell me even that the queen sold the necklace to the Jews. Poor woman! She is often in want of money, oftener than I can give it to her. Exactly so. About two months ago the queen asked for five hundred thousand francs, and your majesty refused it. True? Well, Sire, they say that this money was to have been the first payment for the necklace. The queen, being denied the money, could not pay. Well? Well, Sire, they say the queen applied to someone to help her. To a Jew? No, Sire, not to a Jew. Oh, I guess some foreign intrigue. The queen asked her mother, or some of her family, for money. It would have been better if she had, Sire. Well, to whom, then, did she apply? Sire, I dear not. Monsieur, I am tired of this. I order you to speak out at once, who lent this money to the queen? Monsieur de Roi. Monsieur de Roi, are you not ashamed to name to me the most embarrassed man in my kingdom? Sire, said Monsieur de Bretoy, lowering his eyes. Monsieur de Bretoy, your manner annoys me if you have anything to say, speak at once. Sire, I cannot bring myself to utter things so compromising to the honor of my king and queen. Speak, sir, if there be columnis, they must be refuted. In Sire, Monsieur de Roi went to the Jewelers and arranged for the purchase of the necklace and the mode of payment. Really, cried the king, annoyed and angry. It is a fact Sire capable of being proved, with the greatest certainty. I pledge my word for this. This is most annoying, said the king, but still, sir, we have not heard of a theft. Sire, the Jewelers say that they have a receipt signed by the queen, and she denies having the necklace. Ah, cried the king with renewed hope. She denies it, you see, Monsieur de Bretoy. Oh, Sire, I never doubted her Majesty's innocence. I am indeed unfortunate if your Majesty does not see all my respect for the purest of women. Then you only accuse Monsieur de Roi-Ran? Yes, Sire, and appearance demands some inquiry into his contact. The queen says she has not the necklace. The Jewelers say they sold it to her. It is not to be found, and the word theft is used, as connected both with the queen and Monsieur de Roi-Ran. You are right, Monsieur de Bretoy. This affair must be cleared up. But who is that passing below? Is it not Monsieur de Roi-Ran going to the chapel? Not yet, Sire, he does not come till eleven o'clock, and he will be dressed in his robes, for he officiates today. Then I will send for him and speak to him. Permit me to advise your Majesty to speak first to the queen. Yes, she will tell me the truth. Doubtless, Sire. But first tell me all you know about it. Monsieur de Bretoy, with ingenious hate, mentioned every particular which he thought could injure Monsieur de Roi-Ran. They were interrupted by an officer who approached the king and said, Sire, the queen begs you will come to her. What is it? Asked the king, turning pale. Wait here, Monsieur de Bretoy. End of chapter seventy-four. Chapter seventy-five of the Queen's Necklace. By Alexandre Dumas. The translator is unknown. This Le Provox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Gael Timmerman Vaughn. Chapter seventy-five. Charny, Cardinal, and Queen. Of the same moment as Monsieur de Bretoy asked for an audience of the king, Monsieur de Charny, pale and agitated, begged one of the queen. He was admitted, and touching tremblingly the hand she held out to him, said in an agitated voice. Oh, madame, what a misfortune! What is the matter? Do you know what I've just heard? What the king has perhaps already heard, or will hear tomorrow? She trembled, for she thought of her night with Charny, and fancied they had been seen. Speak, said she, I am strong. They say, madame, that you bought a necklace for Monsieur Beaumé. I returned it, she said quickly. But they say that you only pretended to do so when the king prevented you from paying for it, by refusing you the money, and that you went to borrow the amount from someone else who was your lover. And cried the queen, with her usual impetuous confidence. You, Monsieur, you let them say that. Madame, yesterday I went to Monsieur Beaumé's with my uncle, who had brought some diamonds from the Indies and wished to have them valued. There we heard this frightful story now being spread abroad by your Majesty's enemies. Madame, I am in despair. If you bought the necklace, tell me. If you have not paid, tell me, but do not let me hear that Monsieur de Rouen paid for you. Monsieur de Rouen? Yes, Monsieur de Rouen, whom they call your lover, whom they say lent the money, and whom an unhappy man called Charny, saw in the park in Versailles kneeling before the queen and kissing her hand. Monsieur, cried Marie-Antoinette, if you believe these things when you leave me, you do not love me. Oh, cried the young man, the danger presses. I come to beg you to do me a favour. What danger? Oh, madame, the cardinal paying for the queen dishonours her. I do not speak now of the grief such a confidence in him causes me. No, of these things one dies, but one does not complain. You are mad, cried Marie-Antoinette, in anger. I am not mad, madame, but you are unhappy and lost. I saw you in the park, I told you so. I was not deceived. Today all the horrible truth has burst out. Monsieur de Rouen boasts perhaps. The queen seized his arm. You are mad, repeated she, with inexpressible anguish. Believe anything, believe the impossible but in the name of heaven, after all I have said to you, do not believe me guilty. I, who never even thought of you, without praying to God to pardon me for my fault. Oh, Monsieur de Charny, if you do not wish to kill me, do not tell me that you think me guilty. Charny rung his hands with anguish. Listen, said he, if you wish me to serve you evocatiously. A service from you, from you, more cruel than my enemies. A service from a man who despises me. Never, sir, never. Charny approached and took her hands in his. This evening it will be too late. Save me from despair by saving yourself from shame. Monsieur. Oh, I cannot pick my words with death before me. If you do not listen to me, we shall both die, you from shame and I from grief. You want money to pay for this necklace. I do not deny it. I tell you. Do not tell me that you have not the necklace. I swear. Do not swear if you wish me to love you. There remains one way to save it, once your honour and my love. The necklace is worth one million, six hundred thousand francs. You have paid one hundred thousand. Here is the remainder. Take it and pay. You have sold your possessions. You have ruined yourself from me. Good and noble heart, I love you. Then you accept? No, but I love you. Let Monsieur de Rouen pay. Remember, madame, this would be no generosity towards me, but the refinement of cruelty. Monsieur de Charny, I am queen. I give to my subjects, but I do not accept from them. What do you mean to do, then? You are frank. What do the jewelers say? That as you cannot pay, Monsieur de Rouen will pay for you. What does the public say? That you have the necklace hidden, and will produce it when it shall have been paid for either by the cardinal, in his love for you, or by the king to prevent scandal. And you, Charny, in your turn, I ask, what do you say? I think, madame, that you have need to prove your innocence to me. The Prince Louis, Cardinal de Rouen, was at that moment announced by an usher. You shall have your wish, said the Queen. You are going to receive him? Yes, and I? Go into my boudoir and leave the door ajar, that you may hear, be quick, here he is. Monsieur de Rouen appeared in his ropes of office. The Queen advanced toward him, attempting a smile which died away on her lips. He was serious and said, madame, I have several important things to communicate to you, although you shun my presence. I shun you so little, Monsieur, that I was about to send for you. Am I alone with your Majesty? said he, in a low voice. May I speak freely? Perfectly Monsignor, do not constrain yourself. She said aloud, for Monsieur de Charny to hear. The King will not come. Have no fear of the King or anyone else. Oh, it is yourself I fear, said he, in a moved voice. Well, I am not formidable. Say quickly and openly what you have to say. I like frankness and want no reserve. They say you complain of me. What have you to reproach me with? The cardinal side. End of Chapter 75. Chapter 76 of the Queen's Necklace, by Alexandre Dumas. The translator is unknown. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Gail Timmerman Vaughn. Chapter 76. Explanations. Madame, said the cardinal, bowing. You know what is passing concerning the necklace? No, Monsieur. I wish to learn it from you. Why has your Majesty for so long deigned to communicate with me through another? If you have any reason to hate me, why not explain it? I do not know what you mean. I do not hate you. But that is not, I think, the subject of our interview. I wish to hear all about this unlucky necklace. But first, where is Madame de Lamotte? I was about to ask your Majesty the same question. Really, Monsieur, if anyone knows, I think it ought to be you. I, Madame, why? Oh, I do not wish to receive your confessions about her, but I wish to speak to her, and have sent for her ten times without receiving an answer. And I, Madame, am astonished at her disappearance, for I also sent to ask her to come, and like your Majesty receive no answer. Then let us leave her, Monsieur, and speak of ourselves. Oh, no, Madame, let us speak of her first, for a few words of your Majesty's gave me a painful suspicion. It seemed to me that your Majesty reproached me with my assiduities to her. I have not reproached you at all, sir. Oh, Madame, such a suspicion would explain all to me. Then I should understand all the rick-a-towards me, which I have hitherto found so inexplicable. Here we cease to understand each other, and I beg of you not to still further involve in obscurity what I wished you to explain to me. Madame, cried the cardinal, clasping his hands. I entreat you not to change the subject. Allow me only two words more, and I am sure we shall understand each other. Really, sir, you speak in language that I do not understand. Pray, return to plain French. Where is the necklace that I returned to the jewelers? The necklace that you sent back. Yes, what have you done with it? I. I do not know, Madame. Listen, and one thing is simple. Madame de la Motte took away the necklace and returned it to the jewelers in my name. The jewelers say they never had it, and I hold in my hands a receipt, which proves the contrary. But they say the receipt is forged. Madame de la Motte, if sincere, could explain all, but as she is not to be found, I can but conjecture. She wished to return it, but you, who had always the generous wish to present me with the necklace, you, who brought it to me, with the offer to pay for it, which your Majesty refused. Yes, well, you have persevered in your idea, and you kept back the necklace hoping to return it to me at some other time. Madame de la Motte was weak. She knew my inability to pay for it, and my determination not to keep it when I could not pay. She therefore entered into a conspiracy with you. Have I guessed right? Say yes. Let me believe in this slight disobedience to my orders, and I promise to pardon you both. So let Madame de la Motte come out of her hiding-place. But for pity's sake, let there be perfect clearness and openness, monsieur. A cloud rests over me. I will have it dispersed. Madame, replied the Cardinal with a sigh, unfortunately it is not true. I did not persevere in my idea, for I believed the necklace was in your own hands. I never conspired with Madame de la Motte about it, and I have it no more than you say you or the jewelers have it. Impossible! I have not got it. No, Madame. It is not you who hide it? No, Madame. You do not know what has become of it? No, Madame. But then how do you explain its disappearance? I do not pretend to explain it, Madame, and moreover. It is not the first time that I have had to complain that your Majesty did not understand me. How, sir? Cray, Madame, have the goodness to retrace my letters in your memory. Your letters? You have written to me? You seldom, Madame, to express all that was in my heart. The Queen rose. Terminate this jesting, sir. What do you mean by letters? How can you dare to say such things? Ah, Madame, perhaps I have allowed myself to speak too freely. The secret of my soul. What secret? Are you in your senses, Monsieur? Madame. Oh, speak out! You speak now like a man who wishes to embarrass one before witnesses. Madame, is there really anyone listening to us? No, Monsieur, explain yourself, and prove to me, if you can, that you are in your right senses. Oh, why is not Madame Dalamot here? She could aid me to reawaken, if not your Majesty's attachment, at least your memory. My attachment, my memory. Ah, Madame, cried he, growing excited. Spare me, I beg. It is free for you to love no longer, but do not insult me. Ah, mon die, cried the Queen turning pale. Hear what this man says. Well, Madame, said he, getting still more excited. I think I have been sufficiently discreet and reserved, not to be ill-treated. But I should have known that when a Queen says, I will not any longer, it is as imperious, as when a woman says, I will. But, sir, to whom or when have I said either the one or the other? Both to me. To you. You are a liar, Missie de Rouen, a coward for you to culminate a woman, and a traitor for you insult the Queen. And you are a heartless woman, and a faithless Queen. You led me to feel for you the most ardent love. You let me drink my fill of hopes. Of hopes? My God! Am I mad? Or what is he? Should I have dared to ask you for the midnight interviews, which you granted me? The Queen uttered a cry of rage, as she fancied she heard a sigh from the Boudoir. Should I, continued Missie de Rouen, have dared to come into the park, if you would not send Madame de Lamotte for me? Mon Dieu! Should I have dared to seal the key? Should I have ventured to ask for this rose, which since then I have worn here, on my heart, and burned up with my kisses? Should I have dared to kiss your hands, and above all, should I have dared even to dream of sweet but perfidious love? Missie de Critchie, you blaspheme! Mon Dieu! exclaimed the Cardinal. Heaven knows that to be loved by this deceitful woman, I would have given my all, my liberty, my life. Missie de Rouen, if you wish to preserve either, you will confess immediately that you invented all these horrors, that you did not come to the park at night. I did come, he replied. You are a dead man if you maintain this. A Rouen cannot lie, Madame. I did come. Missie de Rouen, in Heaven's name, say that you did not see me there. I will die if you wish it, and as you threatened me, but I did come to the park at Versailles, where Madame de Lamotte brought me. Once more confess it is a horrible plot against me. No. Then believe that you were mistaken, deceived, that it was all a fancy. No. Then we will have recourse, said she solemnly, to the justice of the King. The Cardinal bowed. The Queen rang violently. Tell His Majesty that I desire His presence. The Cardinal remained firm. Marie Antoinette went ten times to the door of the bourgeois, and each time returned without going in. At last the King appeared, end of chapter 76. Chapter 77 of the Queen's Necklace by Alexandre Dumas. The translator is unknown. The Slipper-Vox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Gail Timmerman Vaughn. Chapter 77. The Arrest. Sire, cried the Queen, here is Missie de Rouen, who says incredible things which I wish him to repeat to you. At these unexpected words the Cardinal turned pale. Indeed it was a strange position to hear himself called upon to repeat to the King, and the husband, all of the climes which he believed he had over the Queen and the wife. But the King, turning towards him, said, about a certain necklace, is it not, sir? Missie de Rouen took advantage of the King's question and chose the least of two evils. Yes, Sire, he murmured, about the necklace. Then, sir, you have brought the necklace? Sire. Yes or no, sir? The Cardinal looked at the Queen and did not reply. The truth, sir, said the Queen, answering his look. We want nothing but the truth. Missie de Rouen turned away his head and did not speak. If Missie de Rouen will not reply, will you, madame, explain, said the King? You must know something about it. Did you buy it? No. Missie de Rouen smiled rather contemptuously. You say nothing, sir, said the King. Of what am I accused, Sire? The jewelers say they sold the necklace, either to you or the Queen. They show a receipt from Her Majesty. A forged one interrupted the Queen. The jewelers continued the King. Say that in case the Queen does not pay you are bound to do so by your engagements. I do not refuse to pay, Sire. It must be the truth, as the Queen permits it to be said, and a second look still more contemptuous than the first, accompanied this speech. The Queen trembled, for she began to think his behaviour like the indignation of an honest man. Well, Missie de Cardinal, someone has imitated the signature of the Queen of France, said the King. The Queen Sire is free to attribute to me whatever crimes she pleases. Sir, said the King, instead of justifying yourself, you assume the heir of an accuser. The Cardinal paused a moment and then cried, Justify myself? Impossible. Missie, these people say that this necklace has been stolen under a promise to pay for it. Do you confess the crime? Who would believe it, if I did, asked the Cardinal, with a haughty disdain? Then, sir, I think they will believe. Sire, I know nothing of what is said interrupted the Cardinal. All that I can affirm is that I have not the necklace. Someone has it who will not produce it, and I can but say, let the shame of the crime fall on the person who knows himself guilty. The question, madame, is between you two, said the King. Once more have you the necklace? No, by the honour of my mother, by the life of my son. The King joyfully turned towards the Cardinal. Then, sir, the affair lies between you and justice, unless you prefer trusting to my clemency. The clemency of Kings is for the guilty, Sire. I prefer the justice of men. You will confess nothing. I have nothing to say. But sir, your silence compromises my honour, cried the Queen. The Cardinal did not speak. Well, then I will speak, cried she. One sire, that Monsieur Durroulin's chief crime is not the theft of this necklace. Monsieur Durroulin turned pale. What do you mean, cried the King? Madame, murmured the Cardinal. Oh, no reasons, no fear, no weakness shall close my mouth. I would proclaim my innocence in public if necessary. Your innocence, said the King. Oh, Madame, who would be rash enough or base enough to compel you to defend that? I beg you, madame, said the Cardinal. Ah, you begin to tremble. I was right. Such plots bear not the whole light. Sire, will you order Monsieur Durroulin to repeat to you what he has just said to me? Madame, cried the Cardinal, take care. You pass all bounds. Sir, said the King, do you dare to speak thus to the Queen? Yes, sire, said Marie Antoinette. This is the way he speaks to me and pretends he has the right to do so. You, sir, cried the King, live it with rage. Oh, he says he has letters. Let us see them, sir, said the King. Yes, produce them, cried the Queen. The Cardinal passed his hands over his burning eyes and asked himself how heaven could ever have created a being so perfidious and so audacious. But he remained silent. But that is not all, continued the Queen, getting more and more excited. Monsieur Le Cardinel says he has obtained interviews. Madame, for pity's sake, cried the Queen. For modesty's sake, murmured the Cardinal. One word, sir, if you are not the basest of men, if you hold anything sacred in this world, if you have proofs, produce them. No, Madame, replied he at length. I have not. You said you had a witness. Who? asked the King. Madame de la Motte. Ah, cried the King, whose suspicions against her were easily excited. Let us see this woman. Yes, said the Queen, but she has disappeared. Ask Monsieur what he has done with her. Others have made her disappear, who had more interest in doing so than I had. But, sir, if you are innocent, help us to find the guilty. The Cardinal crossed his hands and turned his back. Monsieur, cried the King, you shall go to the Bastille. As I am sire in my robes, consider sire the scandal will commence, and will fall heavily on whom so ever it rests. I wish it to do so, sir. It is an injustice, sire. It shall be so. And the King looked round for someone to execute his orders. Monsieur du Plateau was near, anticipating the fall of his rival. The King spoke to him, and he cried immediately. Guards, arrest Monsieur le Cardinal de Rouen. The Cardinal passed by the Queen without saluting her, then bowing to the King, went towards the Lieutenant of the Guards, who approached timidly, seeming to wait for a confirmation of the order he had received. Yes, sir, said Monsieur du Rouen. It is I whom you are to arrest. Conduct Monsieur to his apartment until I have written the order, said the King. When they were alone, the King said, Madame, you know this must lead to a public trial, and that scandal will fall heavily on the heads of the guilty. I thank you, sire. You have taken the only method of justifying me. You thank me. With all my heart, believe me, you have acted like a King, and I as a Queen. Good, replied the King joyfully. We shall find out the truth at last, and when once we have crushed the serpent, I hope we may live in more tranquility. He kissed the Queen and left her. Monsieur, said the Cardinal to the officer who conducted him, can I send word to home that I have been arrested? If no one sees Monsignor. The Cardinal wrote some words on a page of his missile, then tore it out and let it fall at the feet of the officer. She ruins me, murmured the Cardinal, but I will save her for your sake, oh, my King, and because it is my duty to forgive. End of Chapter 77. Chapter 78 of the Queen's Necklace. By Alexandre Dumas, the translator is unknown. The Sluberrock's recording is in the public domain. Recording by Gael Timmerman Vaughn. Chapter 78, the Procé Verbal. When the King re-entered his room, he signed the order to consign Monsieur de Rouen to the Bastille. The Cont de Provence soon came in and began making a series of signs to Monsieur de Pretoy, who, however unwilling, could not understand their meaning. This, however, the Count did not care for, as his sole object was to attract the King's attention. He at last succeeded in the King after dismissing Monsieur de Pretoy, said to him, what was the meaning of all those signs you were making just now? I suppose they meant something. Undoubtedly, but. Oh, you are quite free to say or not. Sire, I have just heard of the arrest of Monsieur de Rouen. Well, and what then? Am I wrong to do justice even on him? Oh, no, brother, I did not mean that. I should have been surprised had you not taken part against the Queen. I've just seen her and am quite satisfied. Oh, Sire, God forbid that I should accuse her. The Queen has no friend more devoted than myself. Then you approve of my proceedings, which will, I trust, terminate all the scandals, which have lately disgraced our court. Yes, Sire, I entirely approve your Majesty's conduct, and I think all is for the best, as regards the necklace. Pardon you. It is clear enough. Monsieur de Rouen has been making himself great on a pretended familiarity with the Queen, and conducting in her name a bargain for the diamonds, and leaving it to be supposed that she had them. It is monstrous. And then these tales never stop at the truth, but add all sorts of dreadful details, which would end in a frightful scandal on the Queen. Yes, brother, I repeat as far as the necklace is concerned, you are perfectly right. What else is there, then? Sire, you embarrass me. The Queen has not then told you. Oh, the other boastings of Monsieur de Rouen, the pretended correspondence in the interviews he speaks of. All that I know is that I have the most absolute confidence in the Queen, which she merits by the nobleness of her character. It was easy for her to have told me nothing of all this, but she always makes an immediate appeal to me in all difficulties and provides to me the care of her honour. I am her confessor and her judge. Sire, you make me afraid to speak, lest I should be again accused of want a friendship for the Queen. But it is right that all should be spoken, that she may justify herself from the other accusations. Well, what have you to say? Let me first hear what she told you. She said she had not the necklace, that she never signed the receipt for the jewels, that she never authorised Monsieur de Rouen to buy them, that she had never given him the right to think himself more to her than any other of her subjects, and that she was perfectly indifferent to him. Ah, she said that, most decidedly, than these rumours about other people. What others? Why, if it were not Monsieur de Rouen who walked with the Queen, how do they say he walked with her? The Queen denies that you say, but how came she to be in the park at night, and with whom did she walk? The Queen in the park at night. Dauntless, there are always eyes ready to watch every movement of a Queen. Brother, these are infamous things that you repeat. Take care. Sire, I openly repeat them that your Majesty may search out the truth. And they say that the Queen walked at night in the park. Yes, Sire, tit a tit. I do not believe anyone says it. Unfortunately, I can prove it, but too well. There are four witnesses. One is the captain of the hunt, who says he saw the Queen go out two following nights by the door near the kennel of the Wolfhands. Here is his declaration, signed. The King, trembling, took the paper. The next is the night watchman, Etrianon, who says he saw the Queen walking arm in arm with a gentleman. The third is the porter of the west door, who also saw the Queen going through the little gate. He states how she was dressed, but that he could not recognize the gentleman, but thought he looked like an officer. He says he could not be mistaken, for that the Queen was accompanied by her friend, Badam de la Motte. Her friend, cried the King, furiously. The last is from the man whose duty it is to see that all doors are locked at night. He says that he saw the Queen go into the baths of Apollo with a gentleman. The King, pale with anger and emotion, snatched the paper from the hands of his brother. It is true, continued the count, that Badam de la Motte was outside and that the Queen did not remain more than an hour. The name of the gentleman, cried the King. This report does not name him, but here is one dated the next day by a forester who says it was Monsieur de Charny. Monsieur de Charny, cried the King. Wait here, I will soon learn the truth of all this. End of chapter 78. Chapter 79 of the Queen's Necklace, by Alexandre Dumas. The translator is unknown. The slip of rocks recording is in the public domain, recording by Gail Timmerman Vaughn. Chapter 79, The Last Accusation. As soon as the King left the room, the Queen ran towards the Boudoir and opened the door. Then, as if her strength failed her, sank down on a chair, waiting for the decision of Monsieur de Charny, her last and most formidable judge. He came out more sad and pale than ever. Well, said she. Madame, replied he, you see everything opposes our friendship. There can be no peace for me, while such scandalous reports circulate in public, putting my private convictions aside. Then, said the Queen, all I have done, this perilous aggression, this public defiance of one of the greatest nobles in the kingdom and my conduct, being exposed to the test of public opinion, does not satisfy you. Oh, Christ Charny, you are noble and generous, I know. But you believe me guilty, you believe the Cardinal? I command you to tell me what you think. I must say then, Madame, that he is neither mad nor wicked, as you called him but a man thoroughly convinced of the truth of what he said, a man who loves you and the victim of an error which will bring him to ruin, and you, well, to dishonor. Mondieu. This odious woman, this Madame de la Morte, disappearing just when her testimony might have restored you to repose and honour. She is the evil genius, the curse of your reign, she whom you have, unfortunately, admitted to partake of your intimacy and your secrets. Oh, sir, yes, Madame, it is clear that you combined with her and the Cardinal to buy this necklace. Pardon if I offend you. Stay, sir, reply the Queen, with a pride not unmixed with anger, what the King believes others might believe, and my friends not be harder than my husband. It seems to me that it can give no pleasure to any man to see a woman whom he does not esteem. I do not speak of you, sir, to you I am not a woman but a queen, as you are to me not a man but a subject. I had advised you to remain in the country, and it was wise. Far from the court, you might have judged me more truly. Too ready to condescend, I have neglected to keep up with those whom I thought loved me, the prestige of royalty. I should have been a queen and content to govern, and not have wished to be loved. I cannot express, replied Chakni, how much your severity wounds me. I may have forgotten that you were a queen, but never that you were the woman, most in the world worthy of my respect and love. Sire, I think your absence is necessary. Something tells me that it will end by your name being mixed up in all this. Impossible, madame. You say impossible. Reflect on the power of those who have for so long played with my reputation. You say that Monsieur de Rouen is convinced of what he asserts. Those who cause such convictions would not be long improving you, a disloyal subject to the king, and a disgraceful friend to me. Those who invent so easily what is false will not be long in discovering the truth. Lose no time therefore. The peril is great. Retire and fly from the scandal which will ensue from the approaching trial. I do not wish that my destiny should involve yours, or your future be ruined. I, who am, thank God, innocent and without a stain on my life. I, who would lay bare my feet to my enemies, could they thus read its purity, will resist to the last. For you might come ruin, defamation, and perhaps imprisonment. Take away the money you so nobly offered me, and the assurance that not one movement of your generous heart has escaped me, and that your doubts, though they have wounded, have not estranged me. Go, I say, and seek elsewhere what the Queen of France can no longer give you, hope and happiness. From this time to the Convocation of Parliament, and the production of witnesses must be a fortnight, your uncle has vessels ready to sail. Go, and leave me. I bring his fortunes on my friends. Saying this, the Queen rose, and seemed to give Chardonnay his concher. He approached quickly, but respectfully. Your Majesty, cried he, in a moved voice, shows me my duty. It is here that danger awaits you, here that you are to be judged, and that you may have one loyal witness on your side. I remain here. Perhaps we may still make your enemies tremble before the Majesty of an innocent Queen, and the courage of a devoted man. And if you wish it, Madame, I will be equally hidden and unseen as though I went. During a fortnight that I lived within a hundred yards of you, watching your every movement, counting your steps, living in your life, no one saw me. I can do so again, if it please you. As you please, replied she. I am no coquette, Monsieur de Chardonnay, and to say what I please is the true privilege of a Queen. One day, sir, I chose you from everyone. I do not know what drew my heart towards you, but I had need of a strong and pure friendship, and I allowed you to perceive that need. But now I see that your soul does not respond to mine, and I tell you so frankly. Oh, Madame, cried Chardonnay, I cannot let you take away your heart from me. If you have once given it to me, I will keep it with my life. I cannot lose you. You reproached me with my doubts. Oh, do not doubt me. Ah, said she, but you are weak, and I, alas, am so also. You are all I love you to be. What, cried she passionately, this abused Queen, this woman about to be publicly judged, that the world condemns, and that her king and husband may perhaps, also in turn condemn, has she found one heart to love her? A slave who venerates her, and offers her his heart's blood, in exchange for every pang he has caused her. Then, cried she, this woman is blessed and happy, and complains of nothing. Chardonnay fell at her feet, and kissed her hands in transport. At that moment the door opened, and the king, surprised, at the feet of his wife, the man whom he had just heard accused, by the compte de Provence. End of chapter 79. Chapter 80 of the Queen's Necklace, by Alexandre Dumas. The translator is unknown. This Librivox recording is in the public domain, recording by Gael Timmerman Vaughn. Chapter 80, the Proposal of Marriage. The Queen and Chardonnay exchanged a look, so full of terror, that their most cruel enemy must have pityed them. Chardonnay rose slowly and bowed to the king, whose heart might also have been seen to beat. Ah, cried he in a hoarse voice. Monsieur de Chardonnay. The queen could not speak, she thought she was lost. Monsieur de Chardonnay repeated the king, it is little honourable for a gentleman to be taken in the act of theft. Of theft? murmured Chardonnay. Yes, sir, to kneel before the wife of another is a theft, and when this woman is a queen, his crime is called hide treason. The count was about to speak, but the queen, ever impatient in her generosity, first told him. Sire, said she, you seem in the mood for evil suspicions and unfavourable suppositions, which fall falsely, I warn you. And if respect chains the count's tongue, I will not hear him wrongfully accused without defending him. Here she stopped, overcome by emotion, frightened at the falsehood she was about to tell, and bewildered because she could not find one to utter. But these few words had somewhat softened the king who replied more gently. Will you not tell me, madame, that I did not see Monsieur de Chardonnay kneeling before you and without your attempting to raise him? Therefore you might think, replied she, that he had some favour to ask me. A favour? Yes, Sire, and one which I could not easily grant, or he would not have insisted with so much less warmth. Chardonnay breathed again and the king's look became calmer. Marie Antoinette was searching for something to say, with mingled rage at being obliged to lie and grief at not being able to think of anything probable to say. She half hoped the king would be satisfied and ask no more, but he said, Let us hear, madame, what is the favour so warmly solicited which made Monsieur de Chardonnay kneel before you? I may perhaps, more happy than you, be able to grant it. She hesitated. To lie before the man she loved was agony to her and she would have given the world for Chardonnay to find the answer, but of this he was incapable. Sire, I told you that Monsieur de Chardonnay asked an impossible thing. What is it? What can one ask on one's knees? I want to hear. Sire, it is a family secret. There are no secrets from the king. A father interested in all his subjects who are his children, although like unnatural children, they may sometimes attack the honour and safety of their father. The speech made the queen tremble anew. Monsieur de Chardonnay asked, replied she, permission to marry. Really, cried the king, reassured for a moment. Then after a pause he said, but why should it be impossible for Monsieur de Chardonnay to marry? Is he not noble? Has he not a good fortune? Is he not brave and handsome? Really, to refuse him the lady ought to be a princess or already married. I can see no other reason for an impossibility. Therefore, madame, tell me the name of the lady who has loved my Monsieur de Chardonnay and let me see if I cannot remove the difficulty. The queen forced to continue her falsehood reply. No, Sire, there are difficulties which even you cannot remove and the present one is of this nature. Still, I wish to hear, replied the king, his anger returning. Chardonnay looked at the queen. She seemed ready to faint. He made a step towards her and then drew back. How dared he approach her in the king's presence. Oh, thought she for an idea. Something that the king can neither doubt nor disbelieve. Then suddenly a thought struck her. She who has dedicated herself to heaven, the king cannot influence. Sire, cried she. She whom Monsieur de Chardonnay wishes to marry is in a convent. Oh, that is a difficulty no doubt, but this seems a very sudden love of Monsieur de Chardonnay's. I have never heard of it from anyone. Who was the lady you love, Monsieur de Chardonnay? The queen felt in despair, not knowing what he would say and dreading to hear him name anyone. But Chardonnay could not reply. So after a pause she cried, Sire, you know her, it is André de Chardonnay. Chardonnay buried his face in his hands. The queen pressed her hand to her heart and could hardly support herself. Ben moisé de Chardonnay, but she has gone to Saint Denis. Yes, Sire, replied the queen. But she has taken no vows. No, but she is about to do so. We will see if we can persuade her. Why should she take the vows? She is poor, said the queen. That I can soon alter, Madame, if Monsieur de Chardonnay loves her. The queen shuddered and cast a glance at the young man as if begging him to deny it. He did not speak. And I daresay continued the king, taking his silence for consent. That Ben moisé de Chardonnay loves Monsieur de Chardonnay. I will give her as a dowry the 500,000 francs which I refused the other day to you. Thank the queen, Monsieur de Chardonnay, for telling me of this and ensuring your happiness. Chardonnay bowed like a pale statue, which had received an instant's life. Oh, it is worth kneeling for again, said the king. The queen trembled and stretched at her hand to the young man who left on it a burning kiss. Now, said the king, come with me. Monsieur de Chardonnay turned once to read the anguish in the eyes of the queen. End of chapter 80. Chapter 81 of the Queen's Necklace by Alexandre Dumas. The translator is unknown. This Slipper-Rox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Gail Timmerman Vaughn. Chapter 81, Saint Denis. The queen remained alone and despairing. So many blows had struck her that she hardly knew from which she suffered most. How she longed to retract the words she had spoken. To take from André, even the chance of the happiness which she still hoped she would refuse. But if she refused, would not the king's suspicions reawaken and everything seem only the worst for this falsehood? She dared not risk this. She must go to André and confess and implore her to make this sacrifice. Or if she would only temporize, the king's suspicions might pass away and he might cease to interest himself about it. Thus the liberty of Mademoiselle de Tavarnay would not be sacrificed. Neither would that of Monsieur de Chardonnay and she would be spared the remorse of having sacrificed the happiness of two people to her honor. She longed to speak again to Chardonnay but feared discovery. And she knew she might rely upon him to ratify anything, she chose to say. Through a clock arrived, the state dinner and the presentations. And the queen went through all with a serene and smiling air. When all was over she changed her dress and got into her carriage and, without any guards and only one companion, drove to Saint-Denis and asked to see André. André was at that moment kneeling, dressed in a white pinot and praying with fervour. She had quitted the court voluntarily and separated herself from all that could feed her love but she could not stifle her regrets and bitter feelings. Had she not seen Chardonnay apparently indifferent towards her while the queen occupied all his thoughts? Yet when she heard that the queen was asking for her, she felt a thrill of pleasure and a light. She threw a mantle over her shoulders and hastened to see her. But on the way she reproached herself with the pleasure that she felt, endeavoring to think that the queen and the court had alike ceased to interest her. Come here, André, said the queen, with a smile as she entered. End of Chapter 81, Chapter 82 of the Queen's Necklace by Alexandre Dumas. The translator is unknown. The Slipper-Vox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Gail Timmerman Vaughn. Chapter 82, A Dead Heart. André, continued the queen, it looks strange to see you in this dress. To see an old friend and companion already lost to life is like a 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, André, had you 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 anyone belonging to you? André, the retreat which you've chosen as an asylum against evil passions. Here God teaches gentleness, moderation, and forgiveness of injuries. I come as a friend and ask you to receive me as such. André felt touched. Your majesty knows, said she, that the tavernés cannot be your enemies. I understand, replied the queen. You cannot pardon me for having been called to your brother. And perhaps he himself accuses me of caprice. My brother is too respectful a subject to accuse the queen, said André coldly. The queen saw that it was useless to try and propitiate André on this subject. 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 have ever loved anyone in this world. She colored as she spoke. You have loved me, then you love me no more. Can a cloister so quickly extinguish all affection and all remembrance? If so, it is a cursed place. Do not accuse my heart, madame, it is dead. Your heart dead, André, you, so young and beautiful? I repeat to you, madame, nothing in the court, nothing in the world, is any more to me. Here I live like the herb or the flower alone for myself. I entreat you to pardon me. This forgetfulness of the glorious vanities of the world is no crime. My confessor congratulates me on it every day. Then you like the convent. I embrace with pleasure a solitary life. Nothing remains which attracts you back to the world. Nothing. Oh, dear, so the queen shall I fail. If nothing else will succeed, I must have recourse to entreaties, to beg her to accept, Monsieur de Charny, heavens, how unhappy I am. André, she said, what you say takes 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, avoided by everyone, incapable of inspiring sympathy in either sex. Ah, madame, and dear mistress, leave me here to become worthy, to be accepted by God, for even he would reject me at present. But, said the queen, what I was about to propose to you would have removed all these humiliations, of which you complain, a marriage which would have made you one of our great ladies. A marriage, stammered André. Yes. Oh, I refuse, I refuse. André 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, André said, but madame, tell me the name of the man who is willing to think of me as his companion for life, a monsieur de Charney. Said the queen with an effort. Monsieur de Charney? Yes, the nephew of Monsieur de Souffrene. It is he, cried André with burning cheeks and sparkling eyes. He consents. He asks you in marriage. Oh, I accept, I accept, for I love him. The queen became livid and sank back trembling, whilst André kissed her hands, bathing them with her tears. Oh, I am ready, murmured she. Come then, cried the queen, who felt as though her strength was failing her with a last effort to preserve appearances. André left the room to prepare. Then Marie Antoinette cried with bitter 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 and myself from shame? End of chapter 82. Chapter 83 of the Queen's Necklace by Alexandre Dumas. The translator is unknown. The Slipperfrocks recording is in the public domain, recording by Gael Timmerman Vaughn. Chapter 83, in which it is explained why the berlin de Tavernet grew fat. Meanwhile, Philippe was hastening the preparations for his departure. He did not wish to witness the dishonor of the queen, his first and only passion. When he was already, he requested an interview with his father. For the last three months, the baron had been growing fat. He seemed to feed on the scandals circulating at the court. They were meat and drink to him. When he received his son's message, instead of sending for him, he went to seek him in his room, already full of the disorder consequent on packing. Philippe did not expect much sensibility from his father. Still, he did not think he would be pleased. André had already left him and it was one less detourment. And he must feel a blank when his son went also. Therefore, Philippe was astonished to hear his father call out, with a burst of laughter. Oh, mon Dieu, he is going away. I was sure of it. I would have bet upon it. Well played, Philippe. Well played. What is well played, sir? Admirable, repeated the old man. You give me praises, sir, which I neither understand nor merit, unless you are pleased at my departure and glad to get rid of me. Oh, oh, left the old man again. I am not your dupe. Do you think I believe in your departure? You do not believe? Really, sir, you surprise me. Yes, it is surprising that I should have guessed. You are quite right to pretend to leave without this ruse, all probably would have been discovered. Monsieur, I protest. I do not understand one word of what you say to me. Where do you say you will go? I go first to Tévernée Maison Rouge. Very well, but be prudent. There are sharp eyes on you both. And she is so fiery and then cautious that you must be prudent for both. What is your address in case I want to send you any pressing news? Tévernée, Monsieur. Tévernée, nonsense. I do not ask you for the address of your house in the park, but choose some third address near here. You, who have managed so well for your love, can easily manage this. Sir, you play it enigmas and I cannot find the solution. Oh, you are discreet beyond all bounds. However, keep your secrets. Tell me nothing of the Huntsman's house, nor the nightly walked with two dear friends, nor the rose, nor the kisses. Monsieur, cried Philippe, mad with jealousy and rage, will you hold your tongue? Well, I know it all. Your intimacy with the queen and your meetings in the baths of Apollo, mon Dieu, our fortunes are assured forever. Monsieur, you cause me horror, cried poor Philippe hiding his face in his hands. And indeed he felt it at hearing attributed to himself all the happiness of another. All the rumours that the father had heard, he had assigned to his son and believed that it was he that the queen loved and no one else, hence his perfect contentment and happiness. Yes, he went on. Some said it was Rouraud, others that it was Charny, not one that it was Tévernée. Oh, you have acted well. At this moment a carriage was heard to drive up and a servant entering said, here is Mademoiselle. My sister, cried Philippe. Then another servant appeared and said that Mademoiselle de Tévernée wished to speak to her brother in her boudoir. Another carriage now came to the door. Who the devil comes now, muttered the Baron. It is an evening of adventures. Monsieur Lecombe de Charny cried the powerful voice of the porter at the gate. Conduct, Monsieur Lecombe, to the drawing-room. My father will see him and I will go to my sister. What can he want here? Thought Philippe as he went down. End of chapter 83. Chapter 84 of The Queen's Necklace by Alexandre Dumas. The translator is unknown. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Gael Timmerman Vaughn. Chapter 84, The Father and the Fiancée. Philippe hastened to the boudoir where her sister awaited him. She ran to embrace him with a joyous air. What is it, André? cried he. Something which makes me happy. Oh, very happy, brother. And you come back to announce it to me. I come back forever, said André. Speak low, sister. There is, or is going to be, someone in the next room who might hear you. Who? Listen. Monsieur Lecombe de Charny announced the servant. He, oh, I know well what he comes for. You know? Yes, and soon I shall be summoned to hear what he has to say. Do you speak seriously, my dear André? Listen, Philippe. The Queen has brought me suddenly back, and I must go, and change my dress for one fit for a fiancée. And saying this with a kiss to Philippe, she ran off. Philippe remained alone. He could hear what passed in the adjoining room. Monsieur de Tevriné entered and saluted the count with a rechercher, though stiff politeness. I come, Monsieur, said Charny, to make a request and beg you to excuse my not having brought my uncle with me, which I know would have been more proper. Your request? I have the honour, continued Charny, in a voice full of emotion. To ask the hand of mademoiselle André, your daughter. The Baron opened his eyes in astonishment. My daughter? Yes, Monsieur le Baron, if mademoiselle de Tevriné feels no repugnance. Oh! thought the old man. Philippe's favour is already so well known that one of his rivals wishes to marry his sister. Then aloud he said, This request is such an honour to us, Monsieur le Compte, that I exceed with much pleasure, and as I should wish you to carry away a perfectly favourable answer, I will send for my daughter. Monsieur, interrupted the count, rather codely. The Queen has been good enough to consult mademoiselle de Tevriné already, and her reply was favourable. Ah! said the Baron, more and more astonished. It is the Queen then. Yes, Monsieur, who took the trouble to go to Saint-Denis. Then, sir, it only remains to acquaint you with my daughter's fortune. She is not rich, and before concluding, it is needless, Monsieur le Baron, I am rich enough for both. At this moment the door opened, and Philippe entered, pale and wild-looking. Sir, he said, my father was right to wish to discuss these things with you. While he goes upstairs to bring the papers, I have something to say to you. When they were left alone, I wish you to charnis, said he. How dare you come here to ask for the hand of my sister! Charné coloured. Is it, continued Philippe, in order to hide better your amours with another woman whom you love, and who loves you, is it that by becoming the husband of a woman who is always near your mistress, you will have more facilities for seeing her? Sir, you pass all bounds. It is perhaps, and this is what I believe, that were I your brother-in-law, you think my tongue would be tied about what I know of your past amour? What you know? Yes, cried Philippe, the Huntsman's house hired by you, your mysterious promenades in the park at night, and the tender parting at the little gate. Monsieur in heaven's name. Oh, sir, I was concealed behind the baths of Apollo, when you came out, arm in arm with the Queen. Charné was completely overwhelmed for a time, then after a few minutes he said, Well, sir, even after all this, I reiterate my demand for the hand of your sister. I am not the base calculator you suppose me, but the Queen must be saved. The Queen is not lost, because I saw her on your arm, raising to heaven her eyes full of happiness, because I know that she loves you. There is no reason why my sister should be sacrificed, Monsieur de Charné. Monsieur replied Charné. This morning the King surprised me at her feet. Mon Dieu! And she, pressed by his jealous questions, replied that I was kneeling, to ask the hand of your sister. Therefore if I do not marry her, the Queen is lost. Do you now understand? A cry from the Boudoir now interrupted them, followed by another from the anti-chamber. Charné ran to the Boudoir. He saw there André, dressed in white like a bride. She had heard all and had fainted. Philippe ran to where the other cry came from. It was his father whose hopes this revelation of the Queen's love for Charné had just destroyed. Struck by apoplexy he had given his last sigh. Philippe, who understood it, looked at the corpse for a few minutes in silence and then returned to the drawing-room. And there saw Charné watching the senseless form of his sister. He then said, My father has just expired, sir. I am now the head of the family. If my sister survive, I will give her to you in marriage. Charné regarded the corpse of the Baron with horror and the form of André with despair. Philippe uttered a groan of agony, then continued, Monsieur de Charné, I make his engagement in the name of my sister, now lying senseless before us. She will give her happiness to the Queen, and I perhaps some day shall be happy enough to give my life for her. Audieu, Monsieur de Charné. And taking his sister into his arms he carried her into the next room. End of Chapter 84 Chapter 85 of The Queen's Necklace by Alexandre Dumas. The translator is unknown. This lipovox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Gael Timmerman Vaughn. Chapter 85. After the dragon, the viper, Oliva was preparing to fly as Jean had arranged, when Bocière, warned by an anonymous letter, discovered her and carried her away. In order to trace them, Jean put all her powers in requisition. She preferred being able to watch over her own secret, and her disappointment was great when all her agents returned announcing a failure. At this time she received in her hiding-place numerous messages from the Queen. She went by night bar sur eaube, and there remained for two days. At last she was traced and an express sent to take her. Then she learned the arrest of the cardinal. The Queen has been rash, thought she, in refusing to compromise with the cardinal, or to pay the jewelers, but she did not know my power. Monsieur, said she to the officer who arrested her, do you love the Queen? Certainly, madame. Well, in the name of that love I beg you to conduct me straight to her. Believe me, you will be doing her a service. The man was persuaded and did so. The Queen received her hotly, for she began to suspect that her conduct had not been straightforward. She called in two ladies as witnesses of what was about to pass. You are found at last, madame, said the Queen. Why did you hide? I did not hide, madame. Run away, then, if that pleases you better. That is to say that I quitted Paris. I had some little business at bar sur eaube. And to tell the truth I did not know I was so necessary to your majesty as to be obliged to ask leave for an absence of eight days. Have you seen the King? No, madame. You shall see him. It will be a great honour for me, but your majesty seems very severe towards me. I am all trembling. Oh, madame, this is but the beginning. Do you know that Monsieur de Rohe has been arrested? They told me so, madame. You guess why? No, madame. You proposed to me that he should pay for a certain necklace. Did I accept or refuse? Refuse? Ah! said the Queen, well pleased. Your majesty even paid one hundred thousand francs on account. Well and afterwards? Afterwards, as your majesty could not pay, you sent it back to Monsieur Beaumont. By home? By me? And what did you do with it? I took it to the cardinal. And why to the cardinal instead of to the jewelers, as I told you? Because I thought he would be hurt if I returned it without letting him know. But how did you get a receipt from the jewelers? Monsieur de Rohe gave it to me. But why did you take a letter to them as coming from me? Because he gave it to me and asked me to do so. It is then all his doing. What is madame? The receipt and the letter are both forged. Forged madame? cried Jean, with much apparent astonishment. Well you must be confronted with him to prove the truth. Why madame? He himself demands it. He says he has sought you everywhere and then he wishes to prove that you have deceived him. Oh, then madame, let us meet. You shall. You deny all knowledge of where the necklace is. How should I know? You deny having aided the cardinal in his intrigues. I am a valois madame. But Monsieur de Rohe maintained before the king many columnaries, which he said you would confirm. I do not understand. He declares he wrote to me. Jean did not reply. Do you hear, said the queen? Yes madame. What do you reply? I will reply when I have seen him. But speak the truth now. Your majesty overwhelms me. That is no answer. I will give no other here. And she looked at the two ladies. The queen understood but would not yield. She scorned to purchase anything by concession. Monsieur de Rohe said the queen was sent to the busteel for saying too much. Take care madame, that you are not sent for saying too little. Jean smiled. A pure conscience can brave persecution, she replied. The busteel will not convict me of a crime. I did not commit. Will you reply? Only to your majesty. Are you not speaking to me? Not alone. Ah, you fear scandal after being the cause of so much to me. What I did, said Jean was done for you. What insolence! I submit to the insults of my queen. You will sleep in the busteel tonight, madame. So be it. I will first pray to God to preserve your majesty's honor. The queen rose furiously and went into the next room. After having conquered the dragon, she said, I can crush the viper. End of chapter eighty-five.