who lived for her alone, and died with her name upon his lips. Anne of Austria fixed upon Buckingham a look so tender in its expression, that it denoted, not alone the indulgence of maternal affection, but a gentleness of expression like the coquetry of a woman who loves.
“Your majesty,” said Buckingham, respectfully, “desired to speak to me.”
“Yes, duke,” said the queen, in English; “will you be good enough to sit down?”
The favor which Anne of Austria thus extended to the young man, and the welcome sound of the language of a country from which the duke had been estranged since his stay in France, deeply affected him. He immediately conjectured that the queen had a request to make of him. After having abandoned the first few moments to the irrepressible emotions she experienced, the queen resumed the smiling air with which she had received him. “What do you think of France?” she said, in French.
“It is a lovely country, madame,” replied the duke.
“Had you ever seen it before?”
“Once only, madame.”
“But, like all true Englishmen, you prefer England?”
“I prefer my own native land to France,” replied the duke; “but if your majesty were to ask me which of the two cities, London or Pairs, I should prefer as a residence, I should be forced to answer Paris.”
Anne of Austria observed the ardent manner with which these words had been pronounced. “I am told, my lord, you have rich possessions in your own country, and that you live in a splendid and time-honored place.”
“It was my father’s residence,” replied Buckingham, casting down his eyes.
“Those are indeed great advantages and souvenirs,” replied the queen, alluding, in spite of herself, to recollections from which it is impossible voluntarily to detach one’s self.
“In fact,” said the duke, yielding to the melancholy influence of this opening conversation, “sensitive persons live as much in the past or the future, as in the present.”
“That is very true,” said the queen, in a low tone of voice. “It follows, then, my lord,” she added, “that you, who are a man of feeling, will soon quit France in order to shut yourself up with your wealth and your relics of the past.”
Buckingham raised his head and said, “I think not, madame.”
“What do you mean?”
“On the contrary, I think of leaving England in order to take up my residence in France.”
It was now Anne of Austria’s turn to exhibit surprise. “Why?” she said. “Are you not in favor with the new king?”
“Perfectly so, madame, for his majesty’s kindness to me is unbounded.”
“It cannot,” said the queen, “be because your fortune has diminished, for it is said to be enormous.”
“My income, madame, has never been so large.”
“There is some secret cause, then?”
“No, madame,” said Buckingham, eagerly, “there is nothing secret in my reason for this determination. I prefer residence in France; I like a court so distinguished by its refinement and courtesy; I like the amusements, somewhat serious in their nature, which are not the amusements of my own country, and which are met with in France.”
Anne of Austria smiled shrewdly. “Amusements of a serious nature?” she said. “Has your Grace well reflected on their seriousness?” The duke hesitated. “There is no amusement so serious,” continued the queen, “as to prevent a man of your rank – ”
“Your majesty seems to insist greatly on that point,” interrupted the duke.
“Do you think so, my lord?”
“If you will forgive me for saying so, it is the second time you have vaunted the attractions of England at the expense of the delight which all experience who live in France.”
Anne of Austria approached the young man, and placing her beautiful hand upon his shoulder, which trembled at the touch, said, “Believe me, monsieur, nothing can equal a residence in one’s own native country. I have very frequently had occasion to regret Spain. I have lived long, my lord, very long for a woman, and I confess to you, that not a year has passed I have not regretted Spain.”
“Not one year, madame?” said the young duke coldly. “Not one of those years when you reigned Queen of Beauty – as you still are, indeed?”
“A truce to flattery, duke, for I am old enough to be your mother.” She emphasized these latter words in a manner, and with a gentleness, which penetrated Buckingham’s heart. “Yes,” she said, “I am old enough to be your mother; and for this reason, I will give you a word of advice.”
“That advice being that I should return to London?” he exclaimed.
“Yes, my lord.”
The duke clasped his hands with a terrified gesture, which could not fail of its effect upon the queen, already disposed to softer feelings by the tenderness of her own recollections. “It must be so,” added the queen.
“What!” he again exclaimed, “am I seriously told that I must leave, – that I must exile myself, – that I am to flee at once?”
“Exile yourself, did you say? One would fancy France was your native country.”
“Madame, the country of those who love is the country of those whom they love.”
“Not another word, my lord; you forget whom you are addressing.”
Buckingham threw himself on his knees. “Madame, you are the source of intelligence, of goodness, and of compassion; you are the first person in this kingdom, not only by your rank, but the first person in the world on account of your angelic attributes. I have said nothing, madame. Have I, indeed, said anything you should answer with such a cruel remark? What have I betrayed?”
“You have betrayed yourself,” said the queen, in a low tone of voice.
“I have said nothing, – I know nothing.”
“You forget you have spoken and thought in the presence of a woman; and besides – ”
“Besides,” said the duke, “no one knows you are listening to me.”
“On the contrary, it is known; you have all the defects and all the qualities of youth.”
“I have been betrayed or denounced, then?”
“By whom?”
“By those who, at Le Havre, had, with infernal perspicacity, read my heart like an open book.”
“I do not know whom you mean.”
“M. de Bragelonne, for instance.”
“I know the name without being acquainted with the person to whom it belongs. M. de Bragelonne has said nothing.”
“Who can it be, then? If any one, madame, had had the
