<h2><SPAN name="CHAPTER_XXXIII" id="CHAPTER_XXXIII"></SPAN>CHAPTER XXXIII.<br/><br/> <small>THE FAINTING FITS.</small></h2>
<p>A<small>NDREA</small> was in her room, giving a final touch to her rebellious curls
when she heard the step of her father, who appeared as she crossed the
sill of the antechamber with a book under her arm.</p>
<p>“Good morning, Andrea,” said the baron; “going out, I see.”</p>
<p>“I am going to the Dauphiness who expects me.”</p>
<p>“Alone?”</p>
<p>“Since Nicole ran away, I have no attendant.”</p>
<p>“But you cannot dress yourself alone; no lady ever does it: I advised
you quite another course.”</p>
<p>“Excuse me, but the Dauphiness awaits—— ”</p>
<p>“My child, you will get yourself ridiculed if you go on like this and
ridicule is fatal at court.<SPAN name="page_204" id="page_204"></SPAN>”</p>
<p>“I will attend to it, father: but at present the Dauphiness will
overlook the want of an elaborate attire for the haste I show to join
her.”</p>
<p>“Be back soon for I have something serious to say. But you are never
going out without a touch of red on the cheeks. They look quite hollow
and your eyes are circled with large rings. You will frighten people
thus.”</p>
<p>“I have no time to do anything more, father.”</p>
<p>“This is odious, upon my word,” said Taverney, shrugging his shoulders:
“there is only one woman in the world who does not think anything of
herself and I am cursed with her for my daughter. What atrociously bad
luck! Andrea!”</p>
<p>But she was already at the foot of the stairs. She turned.</p>
<p>“At least, say you are not well,” he suggested. “That will make you
interesting at all events.”</p>
<p>“There will be no telling lies there, father, for I feel really very ill
at present.”</p>
<p>“That is the last straw,” grumbled the baron. “A sick girl on my hands,
with the favor of the King lost and Richelieu cutting me dead! Plague
take the nun!” he mumbled.</p>
<p>He entered his daughter’s room to ferret about for some confirmation of
his suspicions.</p>
<p>During this time Andrea had been fighting with an unknown indisposition
as she made her way through the shrubbery to the Little Trianon.
Standing on the threshold, Lady Noailles made her understand that she
was late and that she was looking out for her.</p>
<p>The titular reader to the Dauphiness, an abbe, was reciting the news,
above all desonating on the rumor that a riot had been caused by the
scarcity of corn and that five of the ringleaders had been arrested and
sent to jail.</p>
<p>Andrea entered. The Dauphiness was in one of her wayward periods and
this time preferred the gossip to the book; she regarded Andrea as a
spoilsport. So she remarked that she ought not to have missed her time
and that things good in themselves were not always good out of season.</p>
<p>Abashed by the reproach and particularly its injustice, the vice-reader
replied nothing, though she might have said her father detained her and
that her not feeling well had retarded<SPAN name="page_205" id="page_205"></SPAN> her walk. Oppressed and dazed,
she hung her head, and closing her eyes as if about to die, she would
have fallen only for the Duchess of Noailles catching her.</p>
<p>“Oh, dear, she is white as her handkerchief,” said the Archduchess; “it
is my fault for scolding her. Poor girl, take a seat! Do you think you
could go on with your reading?”</p>
<p>“Certainly; I hope so, at least.”</p>
<p>But hardly had she cast her eyes on the page before black specks began
to swarm and float before her sight and they made the print
indecipherable.</p>
<p>She turned pale anew; cold perspiration beaded her brow; and the dark
ring round her eyes with which Taverney had blamed his daughter enlarged
so that the princesses exclaimed, as Andrea’s faltering made her raise
her head.</p>
<p>“Again? look, duchess, the poor child must be ill, for she is losing her
senses.”</p>
<p>“The young lady must get home as soon as possible,” said the Mistress of
the Household drily. “Thus commences the small pox.”</p>
<p>The priest rose and stole away on tiptoe, not wanting to risk his
beauty.</p>
<p>“Yes,” said the Dauphiness, in whose arms the girl came to, “you had
better retire, but do not go indoors at once. A stroll in the garden may
do you good. Oh, send me back my abbe, who is yonder among the tulips.”</p>
<p>Andrea was glad to be out doors, but she felt little improved. To reach
the priest she had to make a circuit. She walked with lowered head,
heavy with the weight of the strange dulness with which she had suffered
since rising. She paid no attention to the birds hunting each other
among the blooming hedges or to the bees humming amid the thyme and
lilacs. She did not remark, only a few paces off, Dr. Jussieu giving a
lesson in gardening to Gilbert. Since the pupil perceived the
promenader, he made but a poor auditor.</p>
<p>“Oh, heavens!” interrupted he, suddenly extending his arms.</p>
<p>“What is the matter?” asked the lecturer.</p>
<p>“She has fainted!”</p>
<p>“Who? are you mad?”</p>
<p>“A lady,” answered Gilbert, quickly.<SPAN name="page_206" id="page_206"></SPAN></p>
<p>His pallor and his alarm would have betrayed him as badly as his cry of
“She” but Jussieu had looked off in the other direction.</p>
<p>He saw Andrea fallen on a garden seat, ready to give up the last
sensible breath.</p>
<p>It was the time when the King had the habit of paying the Dauphin a
visit and came through this way. He suddenly appeared, holding a
hothouse peach, with a true selfish king’s wonder, thinking whether it
would not be better for the welfare of France that he should enjoy it
rather than the princess.</p>
<p>“What is the matter?” he cried as he saw the two men racing towards the
swooning girl whom he vaguely distinguished but did not recognize,
thanks to his weak sight.</p>
<p>“The King!” exclaimed Jussieu, holding Andrea in his arms.</p>
<p>“The King!” murmured she, swooning away in earnest this time.</p>
<p>Approaching, the King knew her at last and exclaimed with a shudder:</p>
<p>“Again? this is an unheard-of thing! when people have such maladies,
they ought to shut themselves up! it is not proper to go dying all over
the house and grounds at all hours of the day and night.”</p>
<p>And on he went, grumbling all sorts of disagreeable things against poor
Andrea. Jussieu did not understand the allusion, but seeing Gilbert in
fear and anxiety, he said:</p>
<p>“Come along, Gilbert; you are stronger; carry Mdlle. de Taverney to her
lodgings.”</p>
<p>“I?” protested Gilbert, quivering; “She would never forgive me for
touching her. No, never!”</p>
<p>And off he ran, calling for help.</p>
<p>When the gardeners and some servants came up, they transported the girl
to her rooms where they left her in the hands of her father.</p>
<p>But from another point arrived the Dauphiness, who had heard of the
disaster from the King, and who not only came but brought her physician.</p>
<p>Dr. Louis was a young man, but he was intelligent.</p>
<p>“Your highness,” he reported to his patroness, “the young<SPAN name="page_207" id="page_207"></SPAN> lady’s malady
is quite natural and not usually dangerous.”</p>
<p>“And do you not prescribe anything?”</p>
<p>“There is absolutely nothing to be done.”</p>
<p>“Very well; she is luckier than I, for I shall die unless you send me
the sleeping pills you promised.”</p>
<p>“I will prepare them myself when I get home.”</p>
<p>When he was gone the princess remained by her reader.</p>
<p>“Cheer up, my dear Andrea,” she said with a kindly smile. “There is
nothing serious in your case for the doctor will not prescribe anything
whatever.”</p>
<p>“I am glad to hear it, but he is a little wrong, for I do not feel at
all well, I declare to you.”</p>
<p>“Still the ail cannot be severe at which a doctor laughs. Have a good
sleep, my child; I will send somebody to attend you for I notice that
you are quite alone. Will you accompany me, my Lord of Taverney?”</p>
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