The Three Musketeers (Translated by Richard Pevear) - Alexandre Dumas [93]
“It was he who told you to invite me to appear with those pendants?”
“That is to say, Madame…”
“It was he, Sire, it was he!”
“Well, what matter if it was he or I? Is there any crime in the invitation?”
“No, Sire.”
“You’ll appear then?”
“Yes, Sire.”
“Very well,” said the king, withdrawing, “very well, I’ll count on it.”
The queen curtsied, less out of etiquette than because her knees were giving way under her.
The king went away delighted.
“I’m lost,” murmured the queen, “I’m lost, because the cardinal knows everything, and it’s he who is pushing the king, who knows nothing yet, but will soon know all. I’m lost! Oh, God, God, God!”
She knelt on a cushion and prayed, her head buried in her shaking arms.
Indeed, the situation was terrible. Buckingham had gone back to London, Mme de Chevreuse was in Tours. More closely watched than ever, the queen sensed dimly that one of her women had betrayed her, without being able to say which one. La Porte could not leave the Louvre. There was not a soul in the world she could trust.
Thus, faced with the ruin that threatened her and the abandonment she lived in, she burst into sobs.
“May I be of any use to Your Majesty?” a voice full of gentleness and pity said all at once.
The queen turned sharply, because there was no mistaking the expression of that voice: it was a friend who had spoken.
Indeed, in one of the doorways that opened onto the queen’s apartments appeared the pretty Mme Bonacieux. She had been busy sorting gowns and linens in a side room when the king came in. She had not been able to leave, and had heard everything.
The queen let out a piercing cry on seeing herself caught, for in her agitation she did not at first recognize the young woman who had been given her by La Porte.
“Oh, don’t be afraid of anything, Madame!” said the young woman, pressing her hands together and weeping at the queen’s distress herself. “I am Your Majesty’s, body and soul, and far as I am from her, inferior as my position is, I believe I have found a way to save Your Majesty from grief.”
“You? Oh, heavens! You?” cried the queen. “But come, look me in the face. I’m betrayed on all sides; can I trust you?”
“Oh, Madame!” cried the young woman, falling to her knees, “upon my soul, I am ready to die for Your Majesty!”
This cry had come from the depths of the heart, and, as with the first, there was no mistaking it.
“Yes,” Mme Bonacieux went on, “yes, there are traitors here. But, by the holy name of the Virgin, I swear to you that no one is more devoted to Your Majesty than I. You gave those pendants that the king keeps asking for to Buckingham, didn’t you? Those pendants were in a little rosewood box that he held under his arm? Am I wrong? Isn’t that so?”
“Oh, my God! my God!” murmured the queen, whose teeth were chattering with fear.
“Well, then,” Mme Bonacieux went on, “we must get those pendants back!”
“Yes, we undoubtedly must,” cried the queen, “but how to do it? how to manage it?”
“We must send someone to the duke.”
“But who?…who?…Who can I trust?”
“Rely on me, Madame. Do me that honor, my queen, and I will find the messenger!”
“But I’ll have to write!”
“Oh, yes! That is indispensable. Two words in Your Majesty’s hand, and your personal seal.”
“But those two words are my condemnation, divorce, exile!”
“Yes, if they fall into dishonorable hands! But I guarantee that those two words will be delivered to the right address.”
“Oh, my God! So I must put my life, my honor, and my reputation in your hands?”
“Yes, yes, Madame, you must, and I will save them all!”
“But how? Tell me that, at least.”
“My husband was set free two or three days ago. I haven’t had time to see him yet. He’s a worthy and honest man, who has neither hatred nor love for anyone. He’ll do what I want. He’ll go off on my orders, without knowing what he’s carrying, and deliver Your Majesty’s letter, without even knowing it is from Your Majesty, to the address you indicate.”
The queen took the young woman by both hands on a passionate impulse, gazed at her as if to read to the bottom of her