queen’s sorrows; “I am your Majesty’s, body and soul, and however far I may be from you, however inferior may be my position, I believe I have discovered a means of extricating your Majesty from your trouble.”
“You, oh, heaven, you!” cried the queen; “but look me in the face. I am betrayed on all sides. Can I trust in you?”
“Oh, madame!” cried the young woman, falling on her knees; “upon my soul, I am ready to die for your Majesty!”
This expression sprang from the very bottom of the heart, and, like the first, there was no mistaking it.
“Yes,” continued Mme. Bonacieux, “yes, there are traitors here; but by the holy name of the Virgin, I swear that no one is more devoted to your Majesty than I am. Those studs which the king speaks of, you gave them to the Duke of Buckingham, did you not? Those studs were enclosed in a little rosewood box which he held under his arm? Am I deceived? Is it not so, madame?”
“Oh, my God, my God!” murmured the queen, whose teeth chattered with fright.
“Well, those studs,” continued Mme. Bonacieux, “we must have them back again.”
“Yes, without doubt, it is necessary,” cried the queen; “but how am I to act? How can it be effected?”
“Someone must be sent to the duke.”
“But who, who? In whom can I trust?”
“Place confidence in me, madame; do me that honor, my queen, and I will find a messenger.”
“But I must write.”
“Oh, yes; that is indispensable. Two words from the hand of your Majesty and your private seal.”
“But these two words would bring about my condemnation, divorce, exile!”
“Yes, if they fell into infamous hands. But I will answer for these two words being delivered to their address.”
“Oh, my God! I must then place my life, my honor, my reputation, in your hands?”
“Yes, yes, madame, you must; and I will save them all.”
“But how? Tell me at least the means.”
“My husband had been at liberty these two or three days. I have not yet had time to see him again. He is a worthy, honest man who entertains neither love nor hatred for anybody. He will do anything I wish. He will set out upon receiving an order from me, without knowing what he carries, and he will carry your Majesty’s letter, without even knowing it is from your Majesty, to the address which is on it.”
The queen took the two hands of the young woman with a burst of emotion, gazed at her as if to read her very heart, and, seeing nothing but sincerity in her beautiful eyes, embraced her tenderly.
“Do that,” cried she, “and you will have saved my life, you will have saved my honor!”
“Do not exaggerate the service I have the happiness to render your Majesty. I have nothing to save for your Majesty; you are only the victim of perfidious plots.”
“That is true, that is true, my child,” said the queen, “you are right.”
“Give me then, that letter, madame; time presses.”
The queen ran to a little table, on which were ink, paper, and pens. She wrote two lines, sealed the letter with her private seal, and gave it to Mme. Bonacieux.
“And now,” said the queen, “we are forgetting one very necessary thing.”
“What is that, madame?”
“Money.”
Mme. Bonacieux blushed.
“Yes, that is true,” said she, “and I will confess to your Majesty that my husband—”
“Your husband has none. Is that what you would say?”
“He has some, but he is very avaricious; that is his fault. Nevertheless, let not your Majesty be uneasy, we will find means.”
“And I have none, either,” said the queen. Those who have read the MEMOIRS of Mme. de Motteville will not be astonished at this reply. “But wait a minute.”
Anne of Austria ran to her jewel case.
“Here,” said she, “here is a ring of great value, as I have been assured. It came from my brother, the King of Spain. It is mine, and I am at liberty to dispose of it. Take this ring; raise money with it, and let your husband set out.”
“In an hour you shall be obeyed.”
“You see the address,” said the queen, speaking so low that Mme. Bonacieux could hardly hear what she said, “To my Lord Duke of Buckingham, London.”
“The letter shall be given to himself.”
“Generous girl!” cried Anne of Austria.
Mme. Bonacieux kissed the hands of the queen, concealed the paper in the bosom of her dress, and disappeared with the lightness of a bird.
Ten minutes afterward she was at home. As she told the queen, she had not seen her husband since his liberation; she was ignorant of the change that had taken place in him with respect to the cardinal—a change which had since been strengthened by two or three visits from the Comte de Rochefort, who had become the best friend of Bonacieux, and had persuaded him, without much trouble, that no culpable sentiments had prompted the abduction of his wife, but that it was only a political precaution.
She found M. Bonacieux alone; the poor man was recovering with difficulty the order in his house, in which he had found most of the furniture broken and the closets nearly emptied—justice not being one of the three things which King Solomon names as leaving no traces of their passage. As to the servant, she had run away at the moment of her master’s arrest. Terror had had such an effect upon the poor girl that she had never ceased walking from Paris till she reached Burgundy, her native place.
The worthy mercer had, immediately upon re-entering his house, informed his wife of his happy return, and his wife had replied by congratulating him, and telling him that the first moment she could steal from her duties should be devoted to paying him a visit.
This first moment had been delayed five days, which, under any other circumstances, might have appeared rather long to M. Bonacieux; but he had, in the visit he had made to the cardinal and in the visits Rochefort had made him, ample subjects for reflection, and as everybody knows, nothing makes time pass more quickly than reflection.
This was the more so because Bonacieux’s reflections were all rose-colored. Rochefort called him his friend, his dear Bonacieux, and never ceased telling him that the cardinal had a great respect for him. The mercer fancied himself already on the high road to honors and fortune.
On her side Mme. Bonacieux had also reflected; but, it must be admitted, upon something widely different from ambition. In spite of herself her thoughts constantly reverted to that handsome young man who was so brave and appeared to be so much in
