LITMIR.BIZ

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you look ill, mademoiselle," said the count.

      "You must go to bed," said the queen. "M. le Comte gives us up this room; do you not, Charles?"

      "Entirely, madame."

      "One moment, count. If you go away, how can we recall you?"

      "You will not need me; you are mistress of this house."

      "But there are other rooms."

      "Certainly, there is a dining-room, which I advise you to visit."

      "With a table ready spread, no doubt."

      "Oh, yes, and Mademoiselle de Taverney, who seems to me to need it much, will find there jellies or chicken, and wine, and you, sister, plenty of those fruits you are so fond of."

      "And no servants?"

      "None."

      "We will see; but how to return?"

      "You must not think of returning to-night. At six o'clock the gates will be opened, go out a quarter before, you will find in these drawers mantles of all colors and all shapes, if you wish to disguise yourselves. Go therefore to the château, regain your rooms, go to bed, and all will be right."

      "But you, what will you do?"

      "Oh, I am going away."

      "We turn you out, my poor brother!"

      "It is better for me not to remain in the same house with you."

      "But you must sleep somewhere."

      "Do not fear; I have three other houses like this."

      The queen laughed. "And he pretends Madame la Comtesse has no cause to be anxious; oh, I will tell her!"

      "You dare not."

      "It is true, we are dependent upon you. Then, to go away to-morrow morning without seeing any one?"

      "You must ring once, as I did below, and the door will open."

      "By itself?"

      "By itself."

      "Then good night, brother."

      "Good night, sister." He bowed and disappeared.

      CHAPTER VII.

      THE QUEEN'S BED-CHAMBER

      The next day, or rather the same morning, for our last chapter brought us to two o'clock, the King Louis XVI., in a violet-colored morning dress, in some disorder, and with no powder in his hair, knocked at the door of the queen's ante-chamber.

      It was opened by one of her women.

      "The queen?" asked Louis, in a brusque manner.

      "Her majesty is asleep, sire."

      The king made a movement, as though to pass in but the woman did not move.

      "Do you not see," he said, "that I wish to come in."

      "But the queen is asleep, sire," again she said timidly.

      "I told you to let me pass," answered the king, going in as he spoke.

      When he reached the door of the bedroom, the king saw Madame de Misery, the first lady-in-waiting, who was sitting reading from her mass book.

      She rose on seeing him. "Sire," she said, in a low voice, and with a profound reverence, "her majesty has not yet called for me."

      "Really?" said the king, in an ironical tone.

      "But, sire, it is only half-past six, and her majesty never rings before seven."

      "And you are sure that her majesty is asleep in bed?"

      "I cannot affirm that she is asleep, sire, but I can that she is in bed."

      The king could contain himself no longer, but went straight to the door, which he opened with some noise. The room was in complete darkness, the shutters closed, and the curtains drawn. A night lamp burned on a bracket, but it only gave a dim and feeble light.

      The king walked rapidly towards the bed.

      "Oh, Madame de Misery," said the queen, "how noisy you are – you have disturbed me!"

      The king remained stupefied. "It is not Madame de Misery," he murmured.

      "What, is it you, sire?" said Marie Antoinette, raising herself up.

      "Good morning, madame," said the king, in a surly tone.

      "What good wind blows you here, sire? Madame de Misery, come and open the shutters."

      She came in instantly, as usual, opened all the doors and windows, to let in light and fresh air.

      "You sleep well, madame," said the king, seating himself, and casting scrutinizing glances round the room.

      "Yes, sire, I read late, and had your majesty not disturbed me, might have slept for some time longer."

      "How was it that you did not receive visitors yesterday?" asked the king.

      "Whom do you mean? – M. de Provence," said the queen, with great presence of mind.

      "Yes, exactly; he wished to pay his respects to you, and was refused."

      "Well!"

      "They said you were out."

      "Did they say that?" asked the queen carelessly. "Madame de Misery – "

      The lady appeared, bringing in with her a number of letters on a gold salver. "Did your majesty call?" she asked.

      "Yes. Did they tell M. de Provence yesterday that I was out? Will you tell the king, for really I forget."

      "Sire," said Madame de Misery, while the queen took her letters and began to read, "I told Monseigneur le Comte de Provence that her majesty did not receive."

      "And by whose orders?"

      "By the queen's, sire."

      Meanwhile, the queen had opened one of the letters, and read these lines: "You returned from Paris yesterday, and entered the château at eight o'clock in the evening; Laurent saw you."

      Madame de Misery left the room.

      "Pardon, sire," said the queen, "but will you answer me one question?"

      "What, madame?"

      "Am I, or am I not, at liberty to see M. de Provence only when it pleases me?"

      "Oh, perfectly at liberty, madame, but – "

      "Well, his conversation wearies me; besides, he does not love me, and I like him no better. I expected his visit, and went to bed at eight o'clock to avoid it. But you look disturbed, sire."

      "I believed you to be in Paris yesterday."

      "At what time?"

      "At the time at which you pretend to have gone to bed."

      "Doubtless, I went to Paris; but what of that?"

      "All, madame, depends on what time you returned."

      "Oh, you wish to know at what time exactly I returned?"

      "Yes."

      "It is easy. Madame de Misery – "

      The Lady reappeared.

      "What time was it when I returned from Paris yesterday?"

      "About eight o'clock, your majesty."

      "I do not believe it," said the king, "you make a mistake, Madame de Misery."

      The lady walked to the door, and called, "Madame Dural!"

      "Yes, madame," replied a voice.

      "At what time did her majesty return from Paris yesterday?"

      "About eight o'clock, madame," replied the other.

      "The king thinks we are mistaken."

      Madame Dural put her head out of the window, and cried, "Laurent!"

      "Who is Laurent?" asked the king.

      "The porter at the gate where her majesty entered," said Madame de Misery.

      "Laurent,"

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