The Queen's Necklace

"Oh! I know," cried she impatiently, "you bear malice; you quarreled with a gentleman here, M. de Charny, and wounded him; and because you see him returned to-day, you are jealous, and wish to leave."

Philippe turned pale, but replied, "Madame, I saw him sooner than you imagine, for I met him at two o'clock this morning by the baths of Apollo."

It was now the queen's time to grow pale, but she felt a kind of admiration for one who had retained so much courtesy and self-command in the midst of his anger and grief. "Go," murmured she at length, in a faint voice, "I will keep you no longer."

Philippe bowed, and left the room, while the queen sank, terrified and overwhelmed, on the sofa.

CHAPTER LXX.

THE JEALOUSY OF THE CARDINAL

The cardinal passed three nights very different to those when he went to the park, and which he constantly lived over again in his memory. No news of any one, no hope of a visit; nothing but a dead silence, and perfect darkness, after such brightness and happiness. He began to fear that, after all, his sacrifice had been displeasing to the queen. His uneasiness became insupportable. He sent ten times in one day to Madame de la Motte: the tenth messenger brought Jeanne to him. On seeing her he cried out, "How! you live so tranquilly; you know my anxiety, and you, my friend, never come near me."

"Oh, monseigneur, patience, I beg. I have been far more useful to you at Versailles than I could have been here."

"Tell me," replied he, "what does she say? Is she less cruel?"

"Absence is equal pain, whether borne at Versailles or at Paris."

"Oh, I thank you, but the proofs – "

"Proofs! Are you in your senses, monseigneur, to ask a woman for proofs of her own infidelity?"

"I am not speaking of proofs for a lawsuit, countess, only a token of love."

"It seems to me that you are either very exacting or very forgetful."

"Oh! I know you will tell me that I might be more than satisfied. But judge by yourself, countess; would you like to be thrown on one side, after having received assurances of favor?"

"Assurances!"

"Oh, certainly, I have nothing to complain of, but still – "

"I cannot be answerable for unreasonable discontents."

"Countess, you treat me ill. Instead of reproaching me for my folly, you should try to aid me."

"I cannot aid you. I see nothing to do."

"Nothing to do?"

"No."

"Well, madame, I do not say the same."

"Ah, monseigneur, anger will not help you; and besides, you are unjust."

"No, countess; if you do not assist me any longer, I know it is because you cannot. Only tell me the truth at once."

"What truth?"

"That the queen is a perfidious coquette, who makes people adore her, and then drives them to despair."

Jeanne looked at him with an air of surprise, although she had expected him to arrive at this state, and she felt really pleased, for she thought that it would help her out of her difficult position. "Explain yourself," she said.

"Confess that the queen refuses to see me."

"I do not say so, monseigneur."

"She wishes to keep me away lest I should rouse the suspicions of some other lover."

"Ah, monseigneur!" cried Jeanne in a tone which gave him liberty to suspect anything.

"Listen," continued he; "the last time I saw her, I thought I heard steps in the wood – "

"Folly!"

"And I suspect – "

"Say no more, monseigneur. It is an insult to the queen; besides, even if it were true that she fears the surveillance of another lover, why should you reproach her with a past which she has sacrificed to you?"

"But if this past be again a present, and about to be a future?"

"Fie, monseigneur, your suspicions are offensive both to the queen and to me."

"Then, countess, bring me a proof – does she love me at all?"

"It is very simple," replied Jeanne, pointing to his writing table, "to ask her."

"You will give her a note?"

"Who else would, if not I?"

"And you will bring me an answer?"

"If possible."

"Ah! now you are a good creature, countess."

He sat down, but though he was an eloquent writer, he commenced and destroyed a dozen sheets of paper before he satisfied himself.

"If you go on so, you will never have done," said Jeanne.

"You see, countess, I fear my own tenderness, lest I displease the queen."

"Oh," replied Jeanne, "if you write a business letter, you will get one in reply. That is your own affair."

"You are right, countess; you always see what is best." He then wrote a letter, so full of loving reproaches and ardent protestations, that Jeanne, when he gave it to her to read, thought, "He has written of his own accord what I never should have dared to dictate."

"Will it do?" asked he.

"If she loves you. You will see to-morrow: till then be quiet."

"Till to-morrow, then."

On her return home Jeanne gave way to her reflections. This letter was just what she wanted. How could the cardinal ever accuse her, when he was called on to pay for the necklace? Even admitting that the queen and cardinal met, and that everything was explained, how could they turn against her while she held in her hands such proofs of a scandalous secret? No, they must let her go quietly off with her fortune of a million and a half of francs. They would know she had stolen the diamonds, but they never would publish all this affair; and if one letter was not enough, she would have seven or eight. The first explosion would come from the jewelers, who would claim their money. Then she must confess to M. de Rohan, and make him pay by threatening to publish his letters. Surely they would purchase the honor of a queen and a prince at the price of a million and a half! The jewelers once paid, that question was at an end; Jeanne felt sure of her fortune. She knew that the cardinal had a conviction so firm that nothing could shake it, that he had met the queen. There was but one living witness against her, and that one she would soon cause to disappear. Arrived at this point, she went to the window and saw Oliva, who was watching in her balcony. She made the accustomed sign for her to come down, and Oliva replied joyfully. The great thing now was to get rid of her. To destroy the instrument that has served them is the constant endeavor of those who intrigue; but here it is that they generally fail; they do not succeed in doing so before there has been time to disclose the secret. Jeanne knew that Oliva would not be easy to get rid of, unless she could think of something that would induce her to fly willingly. Oliva, on her part, much as she enjoyed her nocturnal promenades at first, after so much confinement, was already beginning to weary of them, and to sigh once more for liberty and Beausire.

The night came, and they went out together; Oliva disguised under a large cloak and hood, and Jeanne dressed as a grisette; besides which the carriage bore the respectable arms of Valois, which prevented the police, who alone might have recognized Oliva, from searching it.

"Oh! I have been so ennuyée," cried Oliva, "I have been expecting you so long."

"It was impossible to come and see you, I should have run, and made you run, a great danger."

"How so?" said Oliva, astonished.

"A terrible danger at which I still tremble. You know how ennuyée you were, and how much you wished to go out."

"Yes; and you assisted me like a friend."

"Certainly; I proposed that we should have some amusement with that officer who is rather mad, and in love with the queen, whom you resemble a little; and endeavor to persuade him that it was the queen he was walking with."

"Yes," said Oliva.

"The first two nights you walked in the park, and you played your part to perfection; he was quite taken in."

"Yes," said Oliva, "but it was almost a pity to deceive him, poor fellow, he was so delightful."

"Yes, but the evil is not there. To give a man a rose, to let him kiss your hands, and call you 'your majesty,' was all good fun; but, my little Oliva, it seems you did not stop here."

Oliva colored.

"How?" stammered she.

"There was a third interview."

"Yes," replied Oliva, hastily, "you know, for you were there."

"Excuse me, dear friend; I was there, but at a distance. I neither saw nor heard what passed within, I only know what you told me, that he talked and kissed your hands."

"Oh, mon Dieu!" murmured Oliva.

"You surely could not have exposed us both to such a terrible danger without telling me of it."

Oliva trembled from head to foot.

Jeanne continued. "How could I imagine that you, who said you loved M. Beausire, and were courted by a man like Count Cagliostro, whom you refused; oh! it cannot be true."

"But where is the danger?" asked Oliva.

"The danger! Have we not to manage a madman, one who fears nothing, and will not be controlled. It was no great thing for the queen to give him her hand to kiss or to give him a rose; oh, my dear child, I have not smiled since I heard this."

"What do you fear?" asked Oliva, her teeth chattering with terror.

"Why, as you are not the queen, and have taken her name, and in her name have committed a folly of this kind, that is unfortunately treason. He has no proof of this – they may be satisfied with a prison or banishment."

"A prison! banishment!" shrieked Oliva.

"I, at least, intend to take precautions and hide myself."

"You fear also?"

"Oh! will not this madman divulge my share also? My poor Oliva, this trick of yours will cost us dear."

Oliva burst into tears.

"Oh!" she cried, "I think I am possessed of a demon, that I can never rest: just saved from one danger, I must rush into another. Suppose I confess all to my protector?"

"A fine story to confess to him, whose advances you refused, that you have committed this imprudence with a stranger."

"Mon Dieu! you are right."

"Soon this report will spread, and will reach his ears; then do you not think he will give you up to the police? Even if he only send you away, what will become of you?"

"Oh! I am lost."

"And M. Beausire, when he shall hear this – ?"

Oliva started, and wringing her hands violently, cried out, "Oh, he would kill me; but no, I will kill myself. You cannot save me, since you are compromised also."

"I have," replied Jeanne, "in the furthest part of Picardy, a little farm. If you can gain this refuge, you might be safe."

"But you?"

"Oh, once you were gone, I should not fear him."

"I will go whenever you like."

"I think you are wise."

"Must I go at once?"

"Wait till I have prepared everything to insure safety; meanwhile, hide yourself, and do not come near the window."

"Oh yes, dear friend."

"And to begin, let us go home, as there is no more to say."

"How long will your preparations take?"

"I do not know, but remember henceforth, until the day of your departure I shall not come to the window. When you see me there, you will know that the day has arrived, and be prepared."

They returned in silence. On arriving, Oliva begged pardon humbly of her friend for bringing her into so much danger through her folly.

"I am a woman," replied Jeanne, "and can pardon a woman's weakness."

CHAPTER LXXI.

THE FLIGHT

Oliva kept her promise, and Jeanne also. Oliva hid herself from every one, and Jeanne made her preparations, and in a few days made her appearance at the window as a sign to Oliva to be ready that evening for flight.

Oliva, divided between joy and terror, began immediately to prepare. Jeanne went to arrange about the carriage that was to convey her away. Eleven o'clock at night had just struck when Jeanne arrived with a post-chaise to which three strong horses were harnessed. A man wrapped in a cloak sat on the box, directing the postilions. Jeanne made them stop at the corner of the street, saying, "Remain here – half an hour will suffice – and then I will bring the person whom you are to conduct with all possible speed to Amiens. There you will give her into the care of the farmer who is my tenant; he has his instructions."

"Yes, madame."

"I forgot – are you armed? This lady is menaced by a madman; he might, perhaps, try to stop her on the road."

"What should I do?"

"Fire on any one who tries to impede your journey."

"Yes, madame."

"You asked me seventy louis; I will give you a hundred, and will pay the expenses of the voyage which you had better make to London. Do not return here; it is more prudent for you to go to St. Valery, and embark at once for England."

"Rely on me, madame."

"Well, I will go and bring the lady."

All seemed asleep in that quiet house. Jeanne lighted the lamp which was to be the signal to Oliva, but received no answering sign. "She will come down in the dark," thought Jeanne; and she went to the door, but it did not open. Oliva was perhaps bringing down her packages. "The fool!" murmured the countess, "how much time she is wasting over her rubbish!" She waited a quarter of an hour – no one came; then half-past eleven struck. "Perhaps she did not see my signal," thought Jeanne; and she went up and lighted it again, but it was not acknowledged. "She must be ill," cried Jeanne, in a rage, "and cannot move." Then she took the key which Oliva had given her; but just as she was about to open the door, she thought, "Suppose some one should be there? But I should hear voices on the staircase, and could return. I must risk something." She went up, and on arriving outside Oliva's door she saw a light inside and heard footsteps, but no voices. "It is all right," she thought; "she was only a long time getting ready." "Oliva," said she softly, "open the door." The door opened, and Jeanne found herself face to face with a man holding a torch in his hand.

"Oliva," said he, "is this you?" Then, with a tone of admirably-feigned surprise, cried, "Madame de la Motte!"

"M. de Cagliostro!" said she in terror, feeling half inclined to run away; but he took her hand politely, and begged her to sit down.

"To what do I owe the honor of this visit, madame?"

"Monsieur," said she, stammering, "I came – I sought – "

"Allow me, madame, to inquire which of my servants was guilty of the rudeness of letting you come up unattended?"

Jeanne trembled.

"You must have fallen to the lot of my stupid German porter, who is always tipsy."

"Do not scold him, I beg you, sir," replied Jeanne, who could hardly speak.

"But was it he?"

"I believe so. But you promise me not to scold him?"

"I will not; only, madame, will you now explain to me – "

Jeanne began to gather courage.

"I came to consult you, sir, about certain reports."

"What reports?"

"Do not hurry me, sir; it is a delicate subject."

"Ah! you want time to invent," thought he.

"You are a friend of M. le Cardinal de Rohan?"

"I am acquainted with him, madame."

"Well, I came to ask you – "

"What?"

"Oh, sir, you must know that he has shown me much kindness, and I wish to know if I may rely upon it. You understand me, sir? You read all hearts."

"You must be a little more explicit before I can assist you, madame."

"Monsieur, they say that his eminence loves elsewhere in a high quarter."

"Madame, allow me first to ask you one question. How did you come to seek me here, since I do not live here?" Jeanne trembled. "How did you get in? – for there are neither porter nor servants in this part of my hotel. It could not be me you sought here – who was it? You do not reply; I must aid you a little. You came in by the help of a key which you have now in your pocket. You came to seek a young woman whom from pure kindness I had concealed here."

Jeanne trembled visibly, but replied, "If it were so, it is no crime; one woman is permitted to visit another. Call her; she will tell you if my friendship is a hurtful one."

"Madame, you say that because you know she is not here."

"Not here! Oliva not here?"

"Oh you do not know that – you, who helped her to escape!"

"I!" cried Jeanne; "you accuse me of that?"

"I convict you," replied Cagliostro; and he took a paper from the table, and showed her the following words, addressed to himself:

"Monsieur, and my generous protector, forgive me for leaving you; but above all things I love M. Beausire. He came and I follow him. Adieu! Believe in my gratitude!"

"Beausire!" cried Jeanne, petrified; "he, who did not even know her address?"

"Oh, madame, here is another paper, which was doubtless dropped by M. Beausire." The countess read, shuddering:

"M. Beausire will find Mademoiselle Oliva, Rue St. Claude, at the corner of the boulevard. He had better come for her at once; it is time. This is the advice of a sincere friend."

"Oh!" groaned the countess.

"And he has taken her away," said Cagliostro.

"But who wrote this note?"

"Doubtless yourself."

"But how did he get in?"

"Probably with your key."

"But as I have it here, he could not have it."

"Whoever has one can easily have two."

"You are convinced," replied she, "while I can only suspect." She turned and went away, but found the staircase lighted and filled with men-servants. Cagliostro called out loudly before them, "Madame la Comtesse de la Motte!" She went out full of rage and disappointment.

CHAPTER LXXII.

THE LETTER AND THE RECEIPT

The day arrived for the payment of the first 500,000 francs. The jewelers had prepared a receipt, but no one came with the money in exchange for it. They passed the day and night in a state of cruel anxiety. The following day M. Bœhmer went to Versailles, and asked to see the queen; he was told that he could not be admitted without a letter of audience. However, he begged so hard, and urged his solicitations so well among the servants, that they consented to place him in the queen's way when she went out. Marie Antoinette, still full of joy from her interview with Charny, came along, looking bright and happy, when she caught sight of the somewhat solemn face of M. Bœhmer. She smiled on him, which he took for a favorable sign, and asked for an audience, which was promised him for two o'clock. On his return to Bossange, they agreed that no doubt the money was all right, only the queen had been unable to send it the day before. At two o'clock Bœhmer returned to Versailles.

"What is it now, M. Bœhmer?" asked the queen, as he entered. Bœhmer thought some one must be listening, and looked cautiously around him.

"Have you any secret to tell?" asked the queen, in surprise. "The same as before, I suppose – some jewels to sell. But make yourself easy; no one can hear you."

"Ahem!" murmured Bœhmer, startled at his reception.

"Well, what?"

"Then I may speak out to your majesty?"

"Anything; only be quick."

"I only wished to say that your majesty probably forgot us yesterday."

"Forgot you! what do you mean?"

"Yesterday the sum was due – "

"What sum?"

"Pardon me, your majesty, if I am indiscreet. Perhaps your majesty is not prepared. It would be a misfortune; but still – "

"But," interrupted the queen, "I do not understand a word of what you are saying. Pray explain yourself."

"Yesterday the first payment for the necklace was due."

"Have you sold it, then?"

"Certainly, your majesty," replied Bœhmer, looking stupefied.

"And those to whom you have sold it have not paid, my poor Bœhmer? So much the worse; but they must do as I did, and, if they cannot pay, send it you back again."

The jeweler staggered like a man who had just had a sunstroke. "I do not understand your majesty," he said.

"Why, Bœhmer, if ten purchasers were each to send it back, and give you 100,000 francs, as I did, you would make a million, and keep your necklace also."

"Your majesty says," cried Bœhmer, ready to drop, "that you sent me back the necklace!"

"Certainly. What is the matter?"

"What! your majesty denies having bought the necklace?"

"Ah! what comedy is this, sir?" said the queen, severely. "Is this unlucky necklace destined to turn some one's brain?"

"But did your majesty really say that you had returned the necklace?"

"Happily," replied the queen, "I can refresh your memory, as you are so forgetful, to say nothing more." She went to her secretaire, and, taking out the receipt, showed it to him, saying, "I suppose this is clear enough?"

Bœhmer's expression changed from incredulity to terror. "Madame," cried he, "I never signed this receipt!"

"You deny it!" said the queen, with flashing eyes.

"Positively, if I lose my life for it. I never received the necklace; I never signed the receipt. Were the headsman here, or the gallows, I would repeat the same thing!"

"Then, sir," said the queen, "do you think I have robbed you? do you think I have your necklace?"

Bœhmer drew out a pocket-book, and in his turn produced a letter. "I do not believe," said he, "that if your majesty had wished to return the necklace, you would have written this."

"I write! I never wrote to you; that is not my writing."

"It is signed," said Bœhmer.

"Yes, 'Marie Antoinette of France.' You are mad! Do you think that is the way I sign? I am of Austria. Go, M. Bœhmer; you have played this game unskilfully; your forgers have not understood their work."

"My forgers!" cried the poor Bœhmer, ready to faint at this new blow. "You suspect me?"

"You accuse me, Marie Antoinette?" replied she.

"But this letter?"

"This receipt? Give it me back, and take your letter; the first lawyer you ask will tell you how much that is worth." And taking the receipt from his trembling hands, and throwing the letter indignantly down, she left the room.

The unfortunate man ran to communicate this dreadful blow to his partner, who was waiting in the carriage for him; and on their way home their gestures and cries of grief were so frantic as to attract the attention of every passer-by. At last they decided to return to Versailles.

Immediately they presented themselves they were admitted by the order of the queen.

CHAPTER LXXIII.

"Roi ne puis, prince ne daigne,

Rohan je suis."2

"Ah!" cried the queen, immediately they entered, "you have brought a reinforcement, M. Bœhmer; so much the better."

Bœhmer kneeled at her feet, and Bossange followed his example.

"Gentlemen," said she, "I have now grown calm, and an idea has come into my head which has modified my opinion with regard to you. It seems to me that we have both been duped."

"Ah, madame, you suspect me no longer. Forger was a dreadful word."

"No, I do not suspect you now."

"Does your majesty suspect any one else?"

"Reply to my questions. You say you have not these diamonds?"

"No, madame, we have not."

"It then matters little to you that I sent them – that is my affair. Did you not see Madame de la Motte?"

"Yes, madame."

"And she gave you nothing from me?"

"No, madame; she only said to us, 'Wait.'"

"But this letter – who brought it?"

"An unknown messenger, during the night."

She rang, and a servant entered.

"Send for Madame de la Motte. And," continued the queen to M. Bœhmer, "did you see M. de Rohan?"

"Yes, madame; he paid us a visit in order to ask."

"Good!" said the queen. "I wish to hear no more now; but if he be mixed up with this affair, I think you need not despair. I think I can guess what Madame de la Motte meant by saying 'Wait.' Meanwhile, go to M. de Rohan, and tell him all you have told us, and that I know it."

The jewelers had a renewed spark of hope; only Bossange said that the receipt was a false one, and that that was a crime.

"True," replied Marie Antoinette, "if you did not write it, it is a crime; but to prove this I must confront you with the person whom I charged to return you the jewels."

"Whenever your majesty pleases; we do not fear the test."

"Go first to M. de Rohan; he alone can enlighten you."

"And will your majesty permit us to bring you his answer?"

"Yes; but I dare say I shall know all before you do."

When they were gone she was restless and unquiet, and despatched courier after courier for Madame de la Motte.

We will, however, leave her for the present, and follow the jewelers in their search after the truth.