“And now,” said the queen, “we are forgetting one very necessary thing.”
“What is that, Madame?”
“Money.”
Madame Bonacieux blushed.
“Yes, that is true,” said she, “and I will confess to Your Majesty that my husband—”
“Your husband has none. Is that what you would say?”
“He has some, but he is very avaricious; that is his fault. Nevertheless, let not Your Majesty be uneasy, we will find means.”
“And I have none, either,” said the queen. Those who have read the memoirs of Madame de Motteville will not be astonished at this reply. “But wait a minute.”
Anne of Austria ran to her jewel case.
“Here,” said she, “here is a ring of great value, as I have been assured. It came from my brother, the King of Spain. It is mine, and I am at liberty to dispose of it. Take this ring; raise money with it, and let your husband set out.”
“In an hour you shall be obeyed.”
“You see the address,” said the queen, speaking so low that Madame Bonacieux could hardly hear what she said, “To my Lord Duke of Buckingham, London.”
“The letter shall be given to himself.”
“Generous girl!” cried Anne of Austria.