The Knight of Maison-Rouge_ A Novel of Marie Antoinette - Alexandre Dumas [76]
Geneviève giggled and Maurice chimed in; Morand made do with a small smile.
“So you’ve traveled a lot?” Maurice asked, trapping Geneviève’s foot between his own, as it was tending imperceptibly to disengage.
“Part of my youth,” replied Morand, “was spent abroad.”
“You’ve seen so much! Pardon me, I should say observed so much,” Maurice went on, “for a man like you can’t see without observing.”
“Good gracious, yes, I’ve seen a lot,” Morand agreed. “I’d almost say I’ve seen it all.”
“All, citizen, is a lot, indeed,” Maurice went on, laughing. “And, if you think about it …”
“Ah, yes! You’re right. There are two things I’ve never seen. It’s true that, nowadays, these two things are harder and harder to see.”
“And what are they?” said Maurice.
“The first,” Morand answered gravely, “is a god.”
“Ah!” said Maurice. “I don’t have a god, citizen Morand, but I could show you a goddess.”
“How do you mean?” Geneviève broke in.
“Yes, a goddess of a quite modern creation: the Goddess of Reason. I have a friend you’ve sometimes heard me speak of, the great Lorin, who has a heart of gold and only one fault, which is to speak in doggerel and puns.”
“And so?”
“And so, he has just bestowed on the city of Paris a Goddess of Reason, in perfect mint, and with whom no one can find fault. She is the citizeness Artemisia, a former dancer with the Opera and now a perfumer in the rue Martin. As soon as she’s officially crowned a goddess, I can take you to see her.”
Morand thanked Maurice gravely with a nod and took up where he left off.
“The other thing I haven’t seen,” he said, “is a king.”
“Oh! That, that’s more difficult,” said Geneviève, forcing herself to smile. “There aren’t any anymore.”
“You should have seen the last one,” said Maurice. “That would have been prudent.”
“The result is,” said Morand, “that I haven’t a clue what a crowned head looks like: it must be extremely sad?”
“Extremely sad, yes,” said Maurice. “I can tell you, since I see one every month, just about.”
“A crowned head?” asked Geneviève.
“Or at least,” said Maurice, “one that has borne the heavy and painful burden of a crown.”
“Ah, yes! The Queen!” said Morand. “You’re right, Monsieur Maurice, it must be a gloomy sight.…”
“Is she as beautiful and as haughty as they say?” asked Geneviève.
“Haven’t you ever seen her, then, madame?” Maurice asked in turn, amazed.
“Me? Never!…” replied the young woman. “Really,” said Maurice, “that’s strange!”
“Why strange?” said Geneviève. “We lived in the country till ‘91; since then I’ve lived here in the old rue Saint-Jacques, which is like living in the country, except that you never see the sun and there’s not as much air and very few flowers. You know what my life is like, citizen Maurice: it has always been the same. So how do you expect me to have seen the Queen? The occasion has never presented itself.”
“And I don’t think you will take advantage of the occasion that probably will present itself, unfortunately, fairly soon,” said Maurice.
“What do you mean?” asked Geneviève.
“Citizen Maurice,” said Morand, “is alluding to something that is no longer a secret.”
“What?” asked Geneviève.
“The probable condemnation of Marie Antoinette and her death on the same scaffold where her husband died. The citizen is saying, I think, that in order to see her, you are not likely to take advantage of the day she leaves the Temple to go to the place de la Révolution.”
“Oh, I certainly won’t do that, no!” cried Geneviève to these words uttered by Morand with glacial sangfroid.
“Well then, say your good-byes now,” continued the impassive chemist, “for the Austrian woman is heavily guarded, and the Republic is a fairy whose magic wand can make anyone it likes disappear.”
“I must admit,” said Geneviève, “I really would have liked to have seen that poor woman, though.”
“Listen,” said Maurice, anxious to fulfill all of Geneviève’s dreams, “are you really so keen to see her? Just say the word: the Republic