"How, sire?--what have I done?"

"Some verses which were printed in the _Mercury_."

"Some verses!" said the count, growing red.

"Oh, yes; you are a favorite of the Muses."

"Not I, sire."

"Oh, do not deny it; I have the ma.n.u.script in your writing! Now, if you had informed yourself of what the queen really did that day, instead of writing these lines against her, and consequently against me, you would have written an ode in her favor. Perhaps the subject does not inspire you; but I should have liked a bad ode better than a good satire."

"Sire, you overwhelm me; but I trust you will believe I was deceived, and did not mean harm."

"Perhaps."

"Besides, I did not say I believed it; and then, a few verses are nothing. Now, a pamphlet like one I have just seen----"

"A pamphlet?"

"Yes, sire; and I want an order for the Bastile for the author of it."

The king rose. "Let me see it," he said.

"I do not know if I ought."

"Certainly you ought. Have you got it with you?"

"Yes, sire;" and he drew from his pocket "The History of the Queen Etteniotna," one of the fatal numbers which had escaped from Philippe and Charny.

The king glanced over it rapidly. "Infamous!" he cried.

"You see, sire, they pretend the queen went to M. Mesmer's."

"Well, she did go."

"She went?"

"Authorized by me."

"Oh, sire!"

"That is nothing against her; I gave my consent."

"Did your majesty intend that she should experimentalize on herself?"

The king stamped with rage as the count said this; he was reading one of the most insulting pa.s.sages--the history of her contortions, voluptuous disorder, and the attention she had excited.

"Impossible!" he cried, growing pale; and he rang the bell. "Oh, the police shall deal with this! Fetch M. de Crosne."

"Sire, it is his day for coming here, and he is now waiting."

"Let him come in."

"Shall I go, brother?" said the count.

"No; remain. If the queen be guilty, you are one of the family, and must know it; if innocent, you, who have suspected her, must hear it."

M. de Crosne entered, and bowed, saying, "The report is ready, sire."

"First, sir," said the king, "explain how you allow such infamous publications against the queen."

"Etteniotna?" asked M. de Crosne.

"Yes."

"Well, sire, it is a man called Reteau."

"You know his name, and have not arrested him!"

"Sire, nothing is more easy. I have an order already prepared in my portfolio."

"Then why is it not done?"

M. de Crosne looked at the count.

"I see, M. de Crosne wishes me to leave," said he.

"No," replied the king, "remain. And you, M. de Crosne, speak freely."

"Well, sire, I wished first to consult your majesty whether you would not rather give him some money, and send him away to be hanged elsewhere."

"Why?"

"Because, sire, if these men tell lies, the people are glad enough to see them whipped, or even hanged; but if they chance upon a truth----"

"A truth! It is true that the queen went to M. Mesmer's, but I gave her permission."

"Oh, sire!" cried M. de Crosne.

His tone of sincerity struck the king more than anything M. de Provence had said; and he answered, "I suppose, sir, that was no harm."

"No, sire; but her majesty has compromised herself."

"M. de Crosne, what have your police told you?"

"Sire, many things, which, with all possible respect for her majesty, agree in many points with this pamphlet."

"Let me hear."