M. de Crosne had felt himself in no slight degree embarrassed since his interview with the king and queen. It was no light matter to have the care of the interests of a crown and of the fame of a queen; and he feared that he was about to encounter all the weight of a woman’s anger and a queen’s indignation. He knew, however, that he had but done his duty, and he entered, therefore, tranquilly1, with a smile on his face.
“Now, M. de Crosne,” said the queen, “it is our turn for an explanation.”
“I am at your majesty2’s orders.”
“You ought to know the cause of all that has happened to me, sir.”
M. de Crosne looked round him rather frightened.
“Never mind these ladies,” said the queen; “you know them both; you know every one.”
“Nearly,” said the magistrate3; “and I know the effects, but not the cause, of what has happened to your majesty.”
“Then I must enlighten you, although it is a disagreeable task. I might tell you in private, but my thoughts and words are always open as the day; all the world may know them. I attribute the attacks that have been made upon me to the misconduct of some one who resembles me, and who goes everywhere; and thus your agents have made these mistakes.”
“A resemblance!” cried M. de Crosne, too much occupied with the idea to observe the unquiet look which Jeanne could not for a moment prevent appearing.
“Well, sir, do you think this impossible; or do you prefer to think that I am deceiving you?”
“Oh no, madame! but surely, however strong a resemblance may be, there must be some points of difference to prevent people being so deceived.”
“It seems not, sir; some are deceived.”
“Oh! and I remember,” said Andrée, “when we lived at Taverney Maison Rouge4, we had a servant who very strongly——”
“Resembled me?”
“Most wonderfully, your majesty.”
“And what became of her?”
“We did not then know the great generosity5 of your majesty’s mind, and my father feared that this resemblance might be disagreeable to you; and when we were at Trianon we kept her out of sight.”
“You see, M. de Crosne. Ah! this interests you.”
“Much, madame.”
“Afterwards, dear Andrée?”
“Madame, this girl, who was of an ambitious disposition6 and troublesome temper, grew tired of this quiet life, and had doubtless made bad acquaintances, for one night when I went to bed I was surprised not to see her; we sought her in vain, she had disappeared.”
“Did she steal anything?”
“Nothing, madame.”
“You did not know all this, M. de Crosne?”
“No, madame.”
“Thus, then, there is a woman whose resemblance to me is striking, and you do not know her. I fear your police is badly organized.”
“No, madame; a police magistrate is but a man, and though the vulgar may rate his power as something almost superhuman, your majesty is more reasonable.”
“Still, sir, when a man has secured all possible powers for penetrating7 secrets, when he pays agents and spies, and to such an extent as to know every movement I make, he might prevent this sort of thing.”
“Madame, when your majesty passed the night out, I knew it, the day you went to see madame at the Rue8 St. Claude; therefore my police is not bad. When you went to M. Mesmer’s, my agents saw you. When you went to the Opera——”
The queen started.
“Pardon me, madame, if I saw you; but if your own brother-in-law mistook you, surely an agent at a crown a day may be pardoned for having done so. They thought they saw you, and reported accordingly; therefore my police is not bad. They also knew this affair of the journalist, so well punished by M. de Charny.”
“M. de Charny!” cried the queen and Andrée in a breath.
“Yes, madame: his blows are yet fresh ............