The Knight of Maison-Rouge_ A Novel of Marie Antoinette - Alexandre Dumas [98]
“Oh, my God!” she said. “Poor woman! What’s happened to you?”
“What’s happened to me is … So you don’t know?” asked the woman. “Yes, you do.… You know all right, since it’s because of you that she’s been condemned.…”
“Who?”
“Héloïse.”
“Your daughter?”
“Yes, who else! … My poor daughter!”
“Condemned … But by whom? How? Why?”
“Because she’s the one who sold the bouquet.…”
“What bouquet?”
“The bouquet of carnations … but she isn’t a flower girl,” Mother Tison mused as though sifting through her memories, trying to recall something. “So how could she sell that bouquet?”
The Queen shivered. An invisible thread connected this scene to her present predicament; she knew she must not waste time in a pointless exchange.
“My good woman,” she said, “please let me pass; you can tell me all about it later.”
“No, right now; you have to forgive me. I have to help you escape so he’ll save my daughter.”
The Queen turned a deathly white.
“My God!” she murmured, raising her eyes to the skies before turning toward the municipal officer.
“Monsieur,” she said, “please be so good as to remove this woman; you can see she is mad.”
“All right, all right, let’s go,” said the officer. “Move it.”
But Mother Tison clung to the wall.
“No!” she shrieked. “She has to forgive me so he’ll save my daughter.”
“But who are you talking about?”
“The man in the coat.”
“My sister,” whispered Madame Elisabeth, “offer her a few words of consolation.”
“Oh, gladly!” said the Queen. “Indeed, I believe that would be the quickest way.”
Turning to the madwoman, she said: “Good woman, what do you want? Tell me.”
“I want you to forgive me for making you suffer all the insults I’ve heaped on you and for the denunciations I’ve made; and I want you, when you see the man in the coat, to order him to save my daughter, since he does anything you ask.”
“I don’t know who you mean by the man in the coat,” the Queen replied, “but if all that’s needed to salve your conscience is to obtain my forgiveness for the offenses you believe you have committed against me—oh! from the bottom of my heart, poor woman! I forgive you most sincerely; and may those I’ve trespassed against similarly forgive me!”
“Oh!” cried Mother Tison in an inexpressible note of joy. “So he’ll save my daughter, since you’ve pardoned me. Your hand, madame, your hand.”
The Queen was bewildered and, without understanding a word, held out her hand, which Mother Tison grabbed fervently and to which she frantically applied her lips.
At that moment, the hoarse voice of a town crier was heard in the rue du Temple.
“Here,” the man cried, “is the judgment and arrest of the girl Héloïse Tison, condemning her to death for the crime of conspiracy!”
Scarcely had these words struck the ears of Mother Tison when her face disintegrated; she shot up onto one knee and spread her arms wide so that the Queen could not get past.
“Oh, my God!” murmured the Queen who hadn’t missed a word of the terrible announcement.
“Condemned to death?” cried the mother. “My daughter condemned? My Héloïse finished? He didn’t save her, then, he can’t save her! So it’s too late? … Ah!”
“Poor woman,” said the Queen. “Believe me, I pity you.”
“You?” the woman gasped, her eyes becoming bloodshot. “You? You pity me? Never! Never!”
“You’re wrong. I pity you with all my heart. But you must let me pass.”
“Let you pass!” Mother Tison burst out laughing. “Not on your life! I was going to let you get away because he told me that if I asked your pardon and let you get away, my daughter would be saved. But now that my daughter’s going to die, you will not escape.”
“Over here, messieurs! Come to my aid,” cried the Queen. “My God! My God! Can’t you see this woman’s mad?”
“No, I’m not mad, not at all; I know what I’m saying,” cried Mother Tison. “You see, it’s true, there was a plot. It’s Simon who caught on to it; it’s my daughter, my poor daughter, who sold the bouquet. She admitted it at the Revolutionary