" The Baron de
Besenval, the experienced courtier, the practised man of the world,
was undergoing what was new to him; he felt himself perplexed,
ashamed, and no longer master of his words. He had risen from his
knees, and, after making a stiff obeisance to the queen, he turned
and went with a swift step and crestfallen look along the path which
the queen had indicated.
Marie Antoinette followed him with her eyes so long as he remained
in sight, then looked with a long, sad glance around her.
"And so I am alone again," she whispered, "and poorer by one
illusion more. Ah, and is it then true that there is no friendship
for me; must every friend be an envier or else a lover? Even this
man, whom I honored with my confidence, toward whom I cherished the
feeling of a pupil toward a teacher, even this man has dared to
insult me! Ah, must my heart encounter a new wonder every day, and
must my happiness be purchased with so many pains?"
And with a deep cry of pain the queen drew her hands to her face,
and wept bitterly. All around was still. Only here and there were
heard the songs of the birds in the bushes, light and dreamy; while
the trees, swayed by the wind, gently whispered, as if they wanted
to quiet the grief of the queen, and dry up those tears which fell
upon the flowers.
Pages:
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88