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 Andree even the chance of the happiness which she still hoped she would refuse; but if she refused, would not the king's suspicions re awaken, and everything seem only the worse for this falsehood? She dared not risk this—she must go to Andree 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 Taverney would not be sacrificed, neither would that of M. de Charny; and she would be spared the remorse of having sacrificed the happiness of two people to her honor. She longed to speak again to Charny, but feared discovery; and she knew she might rely upon him to ratify anything she chose to say. Three o'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, got into her carriage, and, without any guards, and only one companion, drove to St. Denis, and asked to see Andree. Andree was at that moment kneeling, dressed in her white peignoir, and praying with fervor. 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 Charny apparently indifferent toward 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 delight. 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, Andree,” said the queen, with a smile, as she entered.
