"Go, my young friend," said Madame de Campan, warmly pressing his hand. "Receive my heartiest thanks for your devotion, and be sure the queen shall hear of it. farewell, farewell!"
"No," cried Marie Antoinette, emerging from behind the screen with a laugh, "no, do not go, sir! Remain to receive your queen's thanks for the disinterested zeal which you have displayed for me this day."
"The queen!" whispered Toulan, turning pale, "the queen!"
And falling upon his knee he looked at the queen with such an expression of rapture and admiration that Marie Antoinette was touched.
"I have much to thank you for, Mr. Toulan," she said. "Not merely that you are the bearer of important news--I thank you besides for convincing me that the Queen of France has faithful and devoted friends, and to know this is so cheering to me that even if you bring me bad news, my sorrow will be softened by this knowledge. I thank you again, Mr. Toulan!"
Toulan perceived that the queen was dismissing him; he stood up and retreated to the door, his eyes fixed on the queen, and then, after opening the door, he sank, as it were, overcome by the storm of his emotions, a second time upon his knee, and folding his hands, raised his great, beaming eyes to heaven.
"God in heaven," he said loudly and solemnly, "I thank Thee for the joy of this hour. From this moment I devote myself to the service of my queen. She shall henceforth be the divinity whom I serve, and to whom I will, if I can avail any thing, freely offer my blood and life. This I swear, and God and the queen have heard my oath!"
And without casting another glance at the queen, without saluting her, Toulan rose and softly left the room, tightly closing the door after him.
"Singular," murmured the queen, "really singular. When he took the oath a shudder passed through my soul, and something seemed to say to me that I should some time be very unhappy, and that this young man should then be near me."
"Your majesty is excited to-day, and so every thing seems to have a sad meaning," said Madame de Campan, softly.
"But the sentence, the sentence!" cried the queen. "Give me the paper, I will read it myself."
Madame de Campan hesitated. "Would your majesty not prefer to receive it in the presence of the king, and have it read by his majesty?"
"No, no, Campan. If it is favorable, I shall have pleasure in carrying the good news to the king. If it is unfavorable, then I can collect myself before I see him."
"But it is so dark here now that it will be impossible to read writing."
"You are right, let us go into my sitting-room," said the queen.
"The candles must be lighted there already. Come, Campan, since I am indebted to you for this early message, you shall be the first to learn it. Come, Campan, go with me!"
With a quick step the queen returned to her apartments, and entered her sitting-room, followed by Madame de Campan, whose countenance was filled with sad forebodings. The queen was right; the candles had already been lighted in her apartments, and diffused a light like that of day throughout her large sitting-room. In the little porcelain cabinet, however, there was a milder light, as Marie Antoinette liked to have it when she was alone and sans ceremonial.
The candles on the main chandelier were not lighted, and on the table of Sevres china and rosewood which stood before the divan were two silver candlesticks, each with two wax candles. These four were the only lights in the apartment.
"Now, Campan," said the queen, sinking into the armchair which stood before the table, near the divan, "now give me the paper. But no, you would better read it to me--but exactly as it stands. You promise me that?"
