At this moment our heroines heard the clock strike from the church of St. Louis.  
“Oh, mon Dieu! a quarter to twelve,” they cried, in terror.
 
“See, all the doors are shut,” said Andrée.
 
“Oh, that is nothing; for, if they were open, we would not go in here. Let us go round by the reservoirs.” And they turned to the right, where there was a private entrance.
 
When they arrived there, “The door is shut, Andrée,” said the elder lady, rather uneasily.
 
“Let us knock, madame.”
 
“No, we will call; Laurent must be waiting for me, for I told him perhaps I should return late.”
 
“I will call,” said Andrée, approaching the door.
 
“Who is there?” said a voice from inside.
 
“Oh, it is not Laurent!” said she, terrified.
 
“Is it not?” and the other lady advanced, and called softly, “Laurent.”
 
No answer.
 
“Laurent?” again she called, louder.
 
“There is no Laurent here,” replied the voice, rudely.
 
“But,” said Andrée, “whether he be here or not, open the door.”
 
“I cannot open it.”
 
“But Laurent would have opened it immediately.”
 
“I have my orders,” was all the reply.
 
“Who are you, then?”
 
“Rather, who are you?”
 
Rude as the question was, it was no time to find fault, so they answered, “We are ladies of her majesty¹’s suite², we lodge³ in the castle, and we wish to get home.”
 
“Well, I, mesdames, am a Suisse of the Salischamade company, and I shall do just the contrary of Laurent, for I shall leave you at the door.”
 
“Oh!” murmured the ladies, in terror and anger.
 
Then, making an effort over herself, the elder lady said, “My friend, I understand that you are obeying orders, and I do not quarrel with you for that—it is a soldier’s duty; only do me the favor to call Laurent—he cannot be far distant.”
 
“I cannot quit my post.”
 
“Then send some one.”
 
“I have no one to send.”
 
“For pity’s sake!”
 
“Oh, mon Dieu, sleep in the town, that is no great thing; if I were shut out of the barracks, I would soon find a bed.”
 
“Listen,” said the lady again; “you shall have twenty louis, if you open this door.”
 
“And twelve years at the galleys⁴: no, thank you. Forty-eight francs a year is not sufficient pay for that.”
 
“I will get you made a sergeant⁵.”
 
“Yes, and he who gave me the order will have me shot.”
 
“And who did give you the order?”
 
“The king.”
 
“The king!” cried they; “oh, we are lost!”
 
“Is there no other door?”
 
“Oh! madame, if this one is closed, be sure all the others will be so also,” said Andrée.
 
“You are right, Andrée. ’Tis a horrible trick of the king,” she said, with a contempt almost menacing.
 
There was a sort of bank outside the door, which they sank down upon in despair. They could see the light under the door, and could hear the steps of the sentinel as he paced to and fro.
 
Within this little door was salvation⁶; without, shame and scandal.
 
“Oh! to-morrow, to-morrow, when they will find out,” murmured the elder lady.
 
“You will tell the truth, madame.”
 
“But shall I be believed?”
 
“Oh! we can prove it; besides, the soldier will not stay all night; he will be relieved, and perhaps his successor will be more complacent⁷.”
 
“Yes, but the patrol will pass directly, and will find me here, waiting outside. It is infamous⁸; I am suffocated⁹ with rage.”
 
“Oh, take courage, madame! you, who are always so brave.”
 
“It is a plot, Andrée, in order to ruin me. This door is never closed. Oh, I shall die!”
 
At this moment they heard a step approaching, and then the voice of a young man, singing gaily¹⁰ as he went along.
 
“That voice,” cried the lady, “I know it, I am sure.”
 
“Oh, yes, madame, he will save us.”
 
A young man, wrapped up in a fur riding-coat, came quickly up, and without noticing them, knocked at the door, and called, “Laurent.”
 
“Brother,” said the elder lady, touching¹¹ him on the shoulder.
 
“The queen,” cried he, taking off his hat.
 
“Hush,” said she.
 
“You are not alone?”
 
“No, I am with Mademoiselle Andrée de Taverney.”
 
“Oh, good evening, mademoiselle.”
 
“Good evening, monseigneur.”
 
“Are you going out, madame?” asked he.
 
“No.”
 
“Then you are going in.”
 
“We wished to do so.”
 
“Have you not called Laurent?”
 
“Yes, we have, but——”
 
“But what?”
 
“You call Laurent, and you will see.”
 
The young man, whom the reader has, perhaps, already recognized as the Comte d’Artois, approached and again called “Laurent.”
 
“I warn you,” answered from within the voice of the Suisse, “that if you torment¹² me any more I will go and fetch my commanding officer.”
 
“Who is this?” asked the count, turning round in astonishment¹³ to the queen.
 
“A Swiss who has been substituted for Laurent.”
 
“By whom?”
 
“By the king.”
 
“The king?”
 
“Yes, he told us so himself.”
 
“And with orders?”
 
“Most strict, apparently¹⁴.”
 
“Diable! we must capitulate.”
 
“What do you mean?” she asked.
 
“Offer him money.”
 
“I have already done so, and he has refused it.”
 
“Offer him promotion¹⁵.”
 
“I have offered that also, but he would not listen.”
 
“Then there is but one way.”
 
“What?”
 
“To make a noise.”
 
“My dear Charles, you will compromise us.”
 
“Not the least in the world; you keep in the background, I will knock like thunder, and shout like a madman; they will open at last, and you can slide in with me.”
 
“Try, then.”
 
The young prince began calling Laurent, knocking at the door and striking with his sword, till at last the Swiss said, “Ah, well! I will call my officer.”
 
“Go and call him, that is just what I want.”
 
They soon heard other steps approaching. The queen and Andrée kept close, ready to slip in if the door should open; then they heard the Swiss say, “It is a gentleman, lieutenant¹⁶, who insists on coming in.”
 
“Well, I suppose that is not astonishing, as we belong to the castle,” said the count.
 
“It is no doubt a natural wish, but a forbidden one,” replied the officer.
 
“Forbidden—by whom? morbleu!”
 
“By the king.”
 
“But the king would not wish an officer of the castle to sleep outside.”
 
“Sir, I am not the judge of that; I have only to obey orders.”
 
“Come, lieutenant, open the door; we cannot talk through this oak.”
 
“Sir, I repeat to you that my orders are to keep it shut; and if you are an officer, as you say, you know that I must obey.”
 
“Lieutenant, you speak to the colonel of a regiment¹⁷.”
 
“Excuse me, then, colonel, but my orders are positive.”
 
“But they cannot concern a prince. Come, sir, a prince cannot be kept out.”
 
“My prince, I am in despair, but the king has ordered——”
 
“The king has ordered you to turn away his brother like a beggar or a robber? I am the Comte d’Artois, sir. Mordieu! you keep me here freezing at the door.”
 
“Monseigneur, God is my witness that I would shed my blood for your royal highness. But the king gave me his orders in person, and confiding¹⁸ to me the charge of this door, ordered me not to open to any one, should it be even himself, after eleven o’clock. Therefore, monseigneur, I ask your pardon humbly¹⁹ for disobeying you, but I am a soldier, and were it her majesty the queen who asked admittance, I should be forced most unwillingly²⁰ to refuse.”
 
Having said this, the officer turned away and left the place.
 
“We are lost,” said the queen.
 
“Do they know that you are out?” asked the count.
 
“Alas, I know not!”
 
“Perhaps, then, this order is leveled against me; the king knows I often go out at night, and stay late. Madame la Comtesse d’Artois must have heard something, and complained to him, and hence this tyrannical order.”
 
“Ah, no, brother, I thank you for trying to reassure²¹ me, but I feel that it is against me these precautions are taken.”
 
“Impossible, sister! the king has too much esteem——”
 
“Meanwhile, I am left at the door, and to-morrow a frightful²² scandal will be the result. I know well I have an enemy near the king.”
 
“It is possible; however, I have an idea.”
 
“What? only be quick. If you can but save us from the ridicule²³ of this position, it is all I care for.”
 
“Oh, I will save you; I am not more foolish than he, for all his learning.”
 
“Than whom?”
 
“Ah, pardieu, the Comte de Provence.”
 
“Ah, then, you also know my enemy.”
 
“Is he not the enemy of all that are young and beautiful, of all who are better than himself?”
 
“Count, I believe you know something about this order.”
 
“Perhaps, but do not let us stop here. Come with me, dear sister.”
 
“Where?”
 
“You shall see, somewhere where at least you will be warm, and en route I will tell you all I know about this. Take my arm, sister, and you the other, Madlle. de Taverney, and let us turn to the right.”
 
“Well, but now go on,” said the queen.
 
“This evening after the king’s supper, he came to his cabinet. He had been talking all day to Count Haga, you had not been seen——”
 
“No, at two o’clock I left to go to Paris.”
 
“I know it. The king, allow me to tell you, dear sister, was thinking no more about you than about Haroun-al-Raschid, or his Vizier Giaffar, and was talking geography. I listened with some impatience²⁴, for I also wanted to go out; probably not with the same object as you.”
 
“Where are we going?” interrupted the queen.
 
“Oh, close by; take care, there is a snow-heap. Madlle. de Taverney, if you leave my arm you will certainly fall. But to return to the king: he was thinking of nothing but latitude²⁵ and longitude²⁶, when M. de Provence said to him, ‘I should like to pay my respects to the queen.’
 
“‘The queen sups at home,’ replied the king.
 
“‘Oh, I believed her at Paris.’
 
“‘No, she is at home,’ said the king, quietly.
 
“‘I have just come from there, and been denied to her,’ said M. de Provence.
 
“Then I saw the king frown. He dismissed us, and doubtless went to make inquiries²⁷. Louis is jealous by fits, you know; he must have asked to see you, and being refused, become suspicious.”
 
“Yes, Madame de Misery²⁸ had orders to do so.”
 
“Then, to know whether you were out or not, he has given these strict orders.”
 
“Oh, it is shameful²⁹ treatment. Confess, is it not?”
 
“Indeed, I think so; but here we are.”
 
“This house?”
 
“Does it displease³⁰ you?”
 
“No, I do not say that—it is charming. But your servants?”
 
“Well!”
 
“If they see me.”
 
“Come in, sister, and I will guarantee that no one sees you, not even whoever opens the door.”
 
“Impossible!”
 
“We will try,” said he, laughing; and laying his hand on one of the panels, the door flew open.
 
“Enter, I pray you,” said he, “there is no one near.”
 
The queen looked at Andrée, then, making up her mind, went in, and the door shut behind them.
 
She found herself in a vestibule, small, but ornamented³¹ in perfect taste. The floor was mosaic³² work, representing bouquets³³ of flowers, while numerous rose-trees on marble brackets scented³⁴ the air with a perfume equally delicious as rare at that time of the year.
 
It looked all so charming, that the ladies began to forget their fears and scruples³⁵.
 
“So far well,” said the queen; “we have a shelter, at all events, and seemingly a very charming one; but you had better see to one thing—that is, to keep off your servants.”
 
“Oh, nothing more easy;” and the prince, seizing a little bell which hung on one of the pillars, rang one clear stroke.
 
“Oh!” cried the queen, frightened, “is that the way to keep them off? I should have thought it would bring them.”
 
“If I had rung again, it would have done so, but when I only ring once, they know they are not wanted.”
 
“Oh, you are a man of precaution!” said the queen laughing.
 
“Now, dear sister, take the trouble to go up-stairs.”
 
“Let us obey,” said the queen, “the genius of this place appears not disagreeable;” and they went up, their steps making no sound on the thick Aubusson carpet.
 
At the top, the prince rang another bell, which gave them a fresh start of surprise, and their astonishment increased when they saw the doors open of themselves.
 
“Really, Andrée,” said the queen, “I begin to tremble, do not you?”
 
“Oh, madame, I shall follow fearlessly wherever your majesty goes.”
 
“Enter,” said the prince, “for here is your apartment;” and he ushered³⁶ them into a charming little room, furnished ‘en buhl,’ with a painted ceiling and walls, and a rosewood floor. It opened into a boudoir, fitted up with white cashmere, beautifully embroidered³⁷ with groups of flowers, and hung with tapestry³⁸ of exquisite³⁹ workmanship. Beyond the boudoir was a bedroom, painted blue, hung with curtains of silk and lace, and with a sumptuous⁴⁰ bed in an alcove⁴¹. A fire burned on the hearth⁴², and a dozen perfumed wax-lights in candelabra.
 
Such were the marvels⁴³ which presented themselves to the eyes of the wondering ladies. No living being was to be seen; fire and lights seemed to have come without hands.
 
The queen stopped on the threshold of the bedroom, looking half afraid to enter.
 
“Sister,” said the count, “these are my bachelor apartments; here I come alone.”
 
“Always?” asked the queen.
 
“Doubtless,” answered he.
 
“I understand now,” said the queen, “why Madame la Comtesse is sometimes unquiet.”
 
“Confess, however, that if she is unquiet to-night, it Will be without reason.”
 
“To-night, I do not say, but other nights.” Then, sitting down; “I am dreadfully tired,” she said; “are not you, Andrée?”
 
“I can scarcely stand, and if your majesty permits——”
 
“Indeed 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 mantles⁴⁴ of all colors and all shapes, if you wish to disguise yourselves. Go therefore to the château, regain⁴⁵ 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.