Then she broke out into loud, scornful laughter, and,
pointing to the letter, she looked at the cardinal with glances of
flame.
"That is not my handwriting, that is not my signature!" cried she,
furiously. "How are you--sir, a prince and grand almoner of France--
how are you so ignorant, so foolish, as to believe that I could
subscribe myself 'Marie Antoinette of France?' Everybody knows that
queens write only their baptismal names as signatures, and you alone
have not known that?"
"I see into it," muttered the cardinal, pale under the look of the
queen, and so weak that he had to rest upon the table for support,
"I see into it; I have been dreadfully deceived."
The king took a paper from his table and gave it to the cardinal.
"Do you confess that you wrote this letter to Bohmer, in which you
send him thirty thousand francs in behalf of the queen, in part
payment for the necklace?"
"Yes, sire, I confess it," answered the cardinal, with a low voice,
which seemed to contradict what he uttered.
"He confesses it," cried the queen, gnashing her teeth, and making
up her little hand into a clinched fist. "He has held me fit for
such infamy--me, his queen!"
"You assert that you bought the jewels for the queen. Did you
deliver them in person?"
"No, sire, the Countess Lamotte did that.
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