Dismounting in the dusk at the door of my apartments, I
found a fresh surprise awaiting me in the shape of M. de Concini,
the Italian; who advancing to meet me before my foot was out of
the stirrup, announced that he came from the King, who desired my
instant attendance in the queen's closet.
Knowing Concini to be one of those whose influence with her
Majesty had more than once tempted the King to the most violent
measures against her--from which I had with difficulty dissuaded
him--I augured the worst from the choice of such a messenger; and
wounded alike in my pride and the affection in which I held the
King, could scarcely find words in which to ask him if the queen
was ill.
"Indisposed, my lord," he replied carelessly. And he began to
whistle.
I told him that I would remove my boots and brush off the dust,
and in five minutes be at his service.
"Pardon me," he said, "my orders are strict; and they are to
request you to attend his Majesty immediately. He expected you
an hour ago."
I was thunderstruck at this--at the message, and at the man's
manner; and for a moment I could scarcely restrain my
indignation.
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