“Give me then, that letter, Madame; time presses.”

The queen ran to a little table, on which were ink, paper, and pens. She wrote two lines, sealed the letter with her private seal, and gave it to Madame Bonacieux.

“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.”