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The Vicomte De Bragelonne
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The Vicomte De Bragelonne 509 at Prostate Health
and Molina, having observed this sign of
weakness, fixed her black vigilant eyes upon her.
"Yes, yes," replied the queen. "Leave us, Motteville; go."
The word "us," produced a disagreeable effect upon the ears of the
French favorite; for it signified that an interchange of secrets, or of
revelations of the past, was about to be made, and that one person was
_de trop_ in the conversation which seemed likely to take place.
"Will Molina, alone, be sufficient for your majesty to-night?" inquired
the Frenchwoman.
"Yes," replied the queen. Madame de Motteville bowed in submission, and
was about to withdraw, when, suddenly, an old female attendant, dressed
as if she had belonged to the Spanish court of the year 1620, opened
the door and surprised the queen in her tears. "The remedy!" she cried,
delightedly, to the queen, as she unceremoniously approached the group.
"What remedy?" said Anne of Austria.
"For your majestys sufferings," the former replied.
"Who brings it?" asked Madame de Motteville, eagerly; "Monsieur Vallot?"
"No; a lady from Flanders."
"From Flanders. Is she Spanish?" inquired the queen.
"I dont know."
"Who sent her?"
"M. Colbert."
"Her name?"
"She did not mention it."
"Her position in life?"
"She will answer that herself."
"Her face?"
"She is masked."
"Go, Molina; go and see!" cried the queen.
"It is needless," suddenly replied a voice, at once firm and gentle in
its tone, which proceeded from the other side of the tapestry hangings;
a voice which made the attendants start and the queen tremble
excessively. At the same moment a masked female appeared through the
hangings, and, before the queen could speak a syllable, she added, "I am
connected with the order of the Béguines of Bruges, and do, indeed,
bring with me the remedy which is certain to effect a cure of your
majestys complaint." No one uttered a sound, and the Beguine did not
move a step.
"Speak," said the queen.
"I will, when we are alone," was the answer.
Anne of Austria looked at her attendants, who immediately withdrew. The
Beguine, thereupon, advanced a few steps toward the queen, and bowed
reverently before her. The queen gazed with increasing mistrust at this
woman, who, in her turn, fixed a pair of brilliant eyes upon her,
through her mask.
"The queen of France must, indeed, be very ill," said Anne of Austria,
"if it is known at the Beguinage of Bruges that she stands in need of
being cured."
"Your majesty is not irremediably ill."
"But, tell me, how do you happen to know I am suffering?"
"Your majesty has friends in Flanders."
"Since these friends, then, have sent you, mention their names."
"Impossible, madame, since your majestys memory has not been awakened
by your heart."
Anne of Austria looked up, endeavoring to discover through the
concealment of the mask, and through her mysterious language, the name
of her companion, who expressed herself with such familiarity and
freedom; then, suddenly, wearied by a curiosity which wounded every
feeling of pride in her nature, she said, "You are ignorant, perhaps,
that royal personages are never spoken to with the face masked."
"Deign to excuse me, madame," replied the Beguine, humbly.
"I cannot excuse you. I may possibly forgive you, if you throw your mask
aside."
"I have made a vow, madame, to attend and aid all afflicted or suffering
persons, without ever permitting them to behold my face. I might have
been able to administer some relief to your body and to your mind, too;
but, since your majesty forbids me, I will take my leave. Adieu, madame,
adieu."
These words were uttered with a harmony of tone and respect of manner
that deprived the queen of all her anger and suspicion, but did not
remove her feeling of curiosity. "You are right," she said; "it ill
becomes those who are suffering to reject the means of relief which
Heaven sends them. Speak, then; and may you, indeed, be able, as you
assert you can, to administer relief to my body--"
"Let us first speak a little of the mind, if you please," said the
Beguine; "of the mind, which, I am sure, must also suffer."
"My mind?"
"There are cancers so insidious in their nature that their very
pulsation is invisible. Such cancers, madame, leave the ivory whiteness
of the skin untouched, and marble not the firm, fair flesh, with their
blue tints; the physician who bends over the patients chest hears not,
though he listens, the insatiable teeth of the disease grinding its
onward progress through the muscles, as the blood flows freely on; the
knife has never been able to destroy, and rarely even, temporarily, to
disarm the rage of these
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