“I hate him!” she cried. I could see du Trémigon wince. “You hear, Monsieur?” “I hear, Madame, but”—he tore off the disguise now and spoke with savage firmness—“Mademoiselle must marry me.” “Must, sir! These are strange words to use to your queen.” “I speak to a woman now,” answered the Marquis. “Explain yourself.” “Mademoiselle is seriously compromised.” I could see the Countess start and clench her hands. The Queen motioned her to remain silent. “How is that, Monsieur?” she asked quietly. “She received me alone in her apartments the night before last.” “You coward!” cried Mademoiselle. “Patience, Gabrielle,” said Marie Antoinette quickly. “You have proofs of that assertion, sir?” From where I stood with a backward glance I could see the old Duke. He had his hand on his sword, his face was as white as death. He was perfectly rigid. He had been told to remain where he was, however, until he was summoned, and he would not move. “You have witnesses?” continued the Queen. “I have. I was seen to go through the gate at eleven o’clock. I climbed to Mademoiselle’s window by the ivy. I remained in her apartment one hour. It was this suit that I now wear in which I presented myself to Mademoiselle.” He turned swiftly to the Countess. “Does not Mademoiselle recognize it?” he said, with a triumphant leer. She shuddered away from him. And indeed it was the one I had worn! “You do recognize it, Gabrielle?” asked the Queen. Mademoiselle said nothing, but it was quite evident that she did. “Your story,” said the Queen composedly, turning to the Marquis, “is most interesting, Monsieur, if it could be believed.” “Out of consideration to one of your maids of honor”—I could have killed him at the hateful emphasis he laid on that last word—“I hope I may be spared the pain of public testimony.” “You give me your word of honor that three nights ago you were in Mademoiselle’s apartments?” “I do.” “Your word of honor as a gentleman?” “Your Majesty has said it.” “Oh, this is infamous—infamous!” cried Mademoiselle. “And you, Countess, what do you say?” continued the Queen. “It is a falsehood, a dastardly falsehood!” A look of relief swept over the old Duke’s face then. His apprehension gave place to a growing anger. I could realize how hard it was for him to remain quiet beyond that curtain. As for me I would have given everything on earth to go out and kill du Trémigon. “You do not wish to marry this man—pardon, this gentleman—Gabrielle?” asked Marie Antoinette. “I would rather kill myself!” “Monsieur du Trémigon,” said the Queen, “have mercy!” “Madame, love has no mercy. I am passionately devoted to Mademoiselle.” “And is that why,” asked Marie Antoinette, with a swift change of manner, “that you set your man, Babin, and two other ruffians to attack Mademoiselle on the road to Paris ten days ago?”