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CHAPTER XXVII.
PLOT AND COUNTERPLOT

MEANWHILE, Madame de Montespan expatiated to all the Court on the impossibility of an alliance between Mademoiselle and the Comte de Lauzun. That Lauzun should be received as a prince of the blood would, according to her, for ever lessen that dignity so dear to the heart of the monarch.

Louvois, her creature – some said her lover – spoke more strongly. Not only France, he said, would be eternally disgraced, but his Majesty would be personally censured in every Court in Europe, for permitting one of his nearest relatives thus to demean herself. Monsieur, father of Mademoiselle, declared that such an alliance would be an affront to the memory of his daughter's illustrious grandfather, Henry the Great. Nobles and ministers, incited by Louvois, threw themselves at the King's feet. They implored him not to cloud his glorious reign by consenting to such a mésalliance. The poor weak Queen, worked upon by the artifices of the malicious De Montespan, who, as superintendent of her household, was constantly about her person, complained loudly of the insult about to be put upon her circle – she a royal daughter of Spain! All the princesses of the blood joined with her. The cabal was adroitly managed. It attacked the King's weak side. No man was ever such a slave to public opinion, or so scrupulously regardful of appearances, as Louis XIV. To him the vox populi was indeed "the voice of God."

About eight o'clock that evening, Mademoiselle was summoned to the Louvre from the Luxembourg. "Was the King still at cards?" she asked the messenger.

"No; his Majesty was in the apartments of Madame de Montespan, but he desired to see her highness the instant she arrived."

As Mademoiselle drove into the quadrangle, a gentleman in waiting approached her coach, and begged her to enter by another door, leading directly into the private apartments. This mystery seemed to her excited imagination full of evil import. When she reached the King's cabinet, some one ran out by another door. It was Madame de Montespan. The King was sitting over the fire. His head rested on his hand. Mademoiselle stood before him trembling all over.

"My cousin," said the King at length, rising and offering her a seat beside his own, "what I have to tell you makes me wretched."

"Good God! Sire, what is it?" asked Mademoiselle in a hoarse voice. She had turned as white as the dress (that of an affianced bride) she wore. Her eyes were fixed upon the King in a wild stare.

"Calm yourself, my cousin," said Louis solemnly. "It is said by my ministers that I am sacrificing you, my relative, to the interests of my favourite Lauzun. I am also informed that Lauzun declares he does not love you – that it was you who offered yourself to him in marriage!"

Mademoiselle clasped her hands, then pressed them on her forehead. "Not love me?" she cried. "What a base lie! Lauzun tells me he adores me."

"Nevertheless, my cousin, such reports must have some foundation," resumed the King, speaking with great gravity. "They compromise me in my royal person; they tarnish the glory of the Crown of France, which I wear." His look and manner from grave had become overbearing and pompous. It was quite evident that whatever touched his own position he would ruthlessly sacrifice. "My cousin, I have to announce to you that I cannot permit this marriage." He spoke in a loud, grating voice, raised his eyes to the ceiling, stroked his chin with his hand, and seemed to swell with self-consciousness.

A ringing scream was heard from Mademoiselle. She lay back on her arm-chair motionless.

Having asserted his dignity, and conveyed in proper terms to his cousin that neither her entreaties nor her sufferings could for an instant be considered when they encroached upon his royal state, Louis relaxed his rigid attitude, condescended to turn his eyes downwards upon poor Mademoiselle, and in a voice kind, spite of his sublimity, added —

"I am very sorry for you, my cousin, very sorry. You have good cause to complain of me; but my duty as King of France is supreme. I cannot permit you to espouse the Comte de Lauzun."

"Ah, sire – " groaned Mademoiselle, in a voice so choked by agitation it sounded strange in the King's ears, and made him shudder; (for his selfish nature instinctively caused him to shrink from every species of suffering). She held out her hands supplicatingly towards him, and vainly essayed several times to speak. "Ah, Sire," she said at last in a voice scarcely audible, "you cannot withdraw your word – the word of a King. Consider," and she stopped and burst into an agony of tears. "Consider, my cousin, no one can have anything to do with my marriage but myself."

No sooner had she uttered these words than Louis drew himself up; the long curls of the full-bottomed wig which covered his shoulders vibrated, and the diamond star he wore on his coat of peach-coloured satin glistened, so sudden had been his action. At the same time, such a stony look came into his hard face, as gave him the aspect of a statue.

"Excuse me, my cousin, my royal dignity, the splendour of my Court, the esteem of every crowned head in Europe are implicated. You seem to forget that you are born a daughter of France. But, madame, I remember it, and I shall shield my royal name from dishonour!"

Overcome as was Mademoiselle, she perceived the mistake she had made. Her brain reeled, her limbs quivered convulsively, but she staggered to her feet.

"Oh, sire, hear me!" she cried. "Let me implore you," and she threw herself before him and clasped his knees, "do not, do not forbid me to marry my beloved Lauzun? No ordinary rule applies to him. Lauzun is good, great, heroic! Oh! who would become a royal position like Lauzun?"

Louis did not reply. Having sufficiently asserted his dignity, he no longer restrained his kindlier feelings. He put his arms round his cousin, and tried to raise her from the ground.

"No, no; let me kneel," cried she passionately, clinging to him, "until you have recalled those dreadful words. Sire, I have ever respected and loved you. I have lived beside you as a sister. Do not – oh! do not make my life desolate. For God's sake, let me spend it with the only man I ever loved! A man so made to love. Kill me! kill me! my cousin," and she wrung her hands convulsively; "but, if I am to live, let me live with Lauzun. I cannot – I will not give him up!"

Louis rose from the arm-chair on which he was seated. He knelt on the floor by her side. He again took her in his arms, and laying her head upon his breast, he soothed her like a child. Big tears rolled down his cheeks. He called her by every endearing name to comfort her. He did all, save consent to her marriage.

Mademoiselle was drowned in tears. Vainly did she, turning her swollen eyes upon the King, who soothed her so fondly, strain her ears to hear that one little word which was to dry them. She listened in vain; that word was never to be spoken. At last, faint with emotion, she signed to the King to raise her up, which he did, placing her on a chair. He kissed her burning forehead, and pressed her dry hands in his.

"My cousin," he said, "do not blame me. Rather blame yourself. Why did you not take my advice? I told you to lose no time. To marry at once. You should have done so. Why did you give me time to reflect – time for others to reflect? You ought to have obeyed me."

Mademoiselle dared not confess that it was Lauzun's fault she had not done so, but at this recollection a fresh burst of grief choked her utterance.

"Alas, Sire," she moaned at last, "when did you ever break your word before? Could I believe you would begin with me? To break your word, too, in such a manner!"

As Louis listened to her, he knit his brows, and looked gloomy and embarrassed.

"I am not my own master," he replied coldly, "in affairs touching my house and the honour of my race."

"Sire, if I do not marry Lauzun," groaned Mademoiselle, almost inaudibly, "I shall die. I never loved any other man. I ask my life of you, cousin. Do not take my life. You are sacrificing me to a court intrigue," she added faintly, catching at his hand, for she was fast losing heart; "but believe me, and let others know, that much as I love and respect your Majesty, and desire to obey you, I will never, never marry another man." Holding the King's hand, she kissed it, and gazed imploringly at him.

"Dear cousin, do not be so unhappy," he replied, at a loss what answer to make to such a home-thrust, which he knew to be so true. "Believe me, your obedience in this matter of Lauzun will make you doubly dear to me. You can command me in all other ways."

"Nothing – nothing can give life a value without Lauzun!" broke in Mademoiselle vehemently.

"My cousin," answered the King gravely, "I cannot permit you to be sacrificed. You are made a tool of. I cannot permit it. Now," he continued, rising, – and with difficulty suppressing a yawn – "you can have nothing more to say to me. I shall not alter my determination."

Mademoiselle wrung her hands, the King drew her to him and kissed her on the forehead. As he did so, a tear dropped upon her cheek.

"Oh, Sire!" cried Mademoiselle, "you pity me, and you have the heart to refuse me! You are the master of my fate. Have mercy on me! Do not give heed to others. Ah, Sire, you are destroying me!"

"Come to me to-morrow, my cousin," said Louis soothingly, much affected, but unshaken by her prayers. "Come and tell me you have forgiven me. Now, good night," and again he tenderly embraced her. Then he summoned his attendants to conduct her to her coach.

"Lauzun had played deep for a great prize, and he had lost the game. He broke out into savage abuse and called the King opprobrious names. Absolutely maddened by rage, he rushed to the palace. He was refused admittance. Yet he swore and cursed at the attendants until he forced them to let him pass. Then he strode up-stairs to the apartments of Madame de Montespan. Here he found the King seated by her side."

Louis rose, placed himself in front of the Marquise, and faced him with a look of the gravest displeasure.

"Sire," cried Lauzun, his face swollen with passion, "I am come to ask you what I have done that you should dishonour me?"

"Come, come, Lauzun," replied Louis, still standing before Madame de Montespan; "calm yourself."

Lauzun was too deep in the royal secrets to make an open breach with him either advisable or safe.

"No, Sire," roared Lauzun, emboldened by the King's calmness; "permit me to say I will not calm myself. I will not permit this humiliation. There is my sword," and he drew it from its scabbard; "your Majesty has made me unworthy to wear it. Take it – take my life also."

Lauzun presented his sword. The King put it from him with an imperious gesture.

"Comte de Lauzun," said he with dignity, "I refuse to accept your sword. Let it still be drawn in my service. There is much to wound you in what has passed. I feel deeply for you. But my duty as King of France compels me to act as I have done."

This was a bold assertion in the presence of Madame de Montespan, who sat motionless behind the King, her cheeks blanched at the thought of what revelations Lauzun might make in his rage.

"I will make what recompense I can to you," continued the King. "You shall be raised, Comte de Lauzun, so high that you will cease to remember this marriage you now so much desire."

"Sire, I will accept no gifts, no honours, from a monarch who has forfeited his word. Ay, Sire, I repeat it deliberately," seeing the King's glance of fury at his insolence, "forfeited his word. Here do I surrender this sword, which your Majesty conferred on me. Here do I break it, Sire, in your face as you have broken your word."

As he spoke, he bent his knee, snapped the blade in two, and violently dashed the fragments on the ground at the King's feet.

"And you, perfidious woman," he continued, addressing Madame de Montespan, "of whom I could reveal so much, whose treachery I have proved – you who sit there unmoved – behold your handiwork! Do I not know that it is you, who, for your own wicked purposes, have influenced my royal master against me!"

Lauzun spoke so rapidly that all this had been said before Louis could stop him.

"Comte de Lauzun," broke forth the King in a voice unsteady with passion, "leave me – leave the palace, I command you. Presume not to insult Madame de Montespan in my presence, or" – and he put out his hand, grasped the gold-headed cane which lay beside him, and strode up to where Lauzun stood, crimson in the face – "or I shall chastise you as you deserve!" and Louis brandished the stick in the air.

Then, as if thinking better of it, his uplifted arm dropped to his side, he drew back some steps, flung away the cane to the farthest corner of the room, and, with a great effort, collected himself.

"Leave me!" he exclaimed, in a voice he strove with difficulty to render calm. "Leave me instantly, while I can still command myself. Go," and he extended his hand with authority, "go, until you learn how to address your Sovereign."

Notwithstanding these altercations, Mademoiselle de Montpensier did not leave the Court. She was gracious to all who approached. She looked happy, even radiant. Lauzun, also, after a short absence, resumed his service about the King's person. He was sleek, prosperous, and more haughty than ever. All this was very strange. That vindictive beauty, Madame de Montespan, could not understand it. Her vengeance after all had failed. The matter must be looked into. Spies were immediately set. Every means of inquiry the State could command was brought to bear on Lauzun and the Princess. Their secret was soon discovered. They were married!

Madame de Montespan rushed to the King, and announced the tremendous fact. Lauzun was instantly arrested, and imprisoned at Pignerol. Mademoiselle, plunged in the depths of despair, left the Court for her Château of Eu, on the coast of Normandy.

CHAPTER XXVIII.
THE ROYAL GOVERNESS

IT was the King's habit, when at Saint-Germain, to hear early mass in the chapel. On his return, he passed through the great gallery in which the Court was assembled, to make their morning salutations to him. There he also received the petitions of all who had sufficient interest to gain admittance. A woman, tall, finely formed, and of ample proportions, with a stealthy glance out of magnificent black eyes, a well-curved mouth, and a composed and dignified bearing, – quite a style to suit the royal taste, – with a black silk scarf edged with lace thrown over her head, and wearing a dress of common materials, but skilfully designed to set off her rounded figure to the best advantage, presented herself before him. In her hand she held a petition, at the top of which, in large letters, was written: "The Widow Scarron most humbly prays his Majesty to grant – "

Louis read no more; his eye was gratified by the petitioner, not by the petition, which he put into his pocket and forgot. But the lady appeared so often, standing in the same place in the gallery of Saint-Germain, that his Majesty grew weary of her sight. At length he turned his back upon her.

Françoise d'Aubigné, of the Protestant family of that name, had married in her youth the poet Scarron – a dwarf, deformed and bedridden, a lover of loose company, and a writer of looser songs – for her bread. Scarron drew up the marriage contract without the assistance of a notary. The dower of Françoise was as follows. Four pounds a year, two large black eyes, a fine bust, well-shaped hands, and a great deal of esprit. Scarron covenanted to contribute the hump upon his back, plenty of brains, and a pension granted to him by the Queen-Regent, Anne of Austria, as le malade de le Reine. He regretted he could not offer either hands or feet, both being paralysed. But he can assure his fiancée of a dower which she will gladly accept —Immortality: a prediction made in derision, which was strangely justified by events.

In the house of her husband, this enticing daughter of the D'Aubignés learned early "to be all things to all men." She copied her husband's ribald songs for him, she entertained his promiscuous circle of friends – the gross Villarceaux, Ninon de l'Enclos, Mademoiselle de Scudéri, a lady of the highest virtue, but who affected Bohemian society, and many others.

In process of time, Madame Scarron's youth, beauty, and talents opened to her the salon of the Maréchal d'Albert, where she made the acquaintance of Madame de Sévigné, and Madame de Chalais, to become the Princesse des Ursins. She also made a much more important acquaintance in Madame de Montespan. When Scarron died, she found herself without a resource in the world. The King had disregarded her petition. By her friends' interest she obtained a place in the household of the Princess de Nemours, affianced to the King of Portugal. Before quitting France, she called on all she knew. Among others, she visited Madame de Montespan. To her she related her ill-success at Saint-Germain.

"Why did you not come to me?" asked the favourite. "I would have protected you. I will even now take charge of your petition. I will see that his Majesty reads it."

"What!" cried Louis, when he saw the well-known name, "the Widow Scarron again? Why, I am deluged with her petitions. She is become a Court proverb, 'as importunate as the Widow Scarron.' What do you know of the Widow Scarron, Athanaise?"

The petition for the pension was nevertheless granted, and la Vueve Scarron, notwithstanding many scandalous reports of the past, was appointed governess to the illegitimate children born to the King and Madame de Montespan. Her devotion to her charges was extraordinary. The King, an attached father, was favourably impressed. He showed his approbation by a liberal allowance, out of which was purchased the château and estate of Maintenon, lying in a picturesque valley beside a river, sheltered by hills, in a woodland district between Versailles and Chartres. From this time the Widow Scarron was known as the Marquise de Maintenon, and became a devout Catholic. She had her own apartments at Court, and cut all her disreputable friends. She was constantly present when the King visited Madame de Montespan.

In the meantime, Mademoiselle de Montpensier returned to Court. Louis XIV. could not tolerate the absence of any of the princes and princesses of the blood-royal, stars of the first magnitude in that heaven where he blazed forth the centre of life and light. Louis had sent a message to her. Mademoiselle therefore dried her eyes, and appeared in her usual place in the circle. Surely, she thinks, the King will appreciate the sacrifice she is making in being present at festivities which, by recalling so vividly the image of Lauzun, drive her to despair!

A ballet is to take place at Versailles; the King is to dance. Mademoiselle forces herself to be present. She looks old, sad, and ill. She is preoccupied. Her thoughts are with Lauzun, in the mountain-bound fortress of Pignerol. There is but one person present in that vast company she cares about. With him she yearns to speak. It is D'Artagnan, Captain of the Musketeers, who accompanied Lauzun to Pignerol.

D'Artagnan, a Gascon, is a countryman of Lauzun. He perfectly understands the part he has to play with Mademoiselle; a part, indeed he had carefully rehearsed with Lauzun while they were together. All the time the ballet lasts, D'Artagnan, in immediate attendance on the King, keeps his eyes fixed on Mademoiselle with a sorrowful expression. This agitates her extremely; she has the greatest difficulty in keeping her seat beside the Queen.

Supper is served in the Queen's apartment, Louis and Maria Theresa sit under a canopy of cloth of gold. Hundreds of wax lights blaze in gilded stands, and the King's twenty-four violins play. The Dauphin, Mademoiselle, and all the princes and princesses of the blood present are seated at the table. The ushers and attendants admit the public to gaze at their Majesties. Every well-dressed person can enjoy this privilege, and the staircases and passages are filled with crowds ascending and descending.

When the tedious ceremony is over, Mademoiselle places herself near the door, and signs to D'Artagnan to approach.

"Ah, Captain d'Artagnan, I saw you looking at me all the time of the ballet," she says, with a sigh.

D'Artagnan, a bluff, soldierly fellow, but crafty withal, and shrewd, a good friend and a bitter hater, salutes her respectfully.

"D'Artagnan," continues Mademoiselle, moving closer beside him, and dropping her voice into a whisper, "you have something to tell me. I see it in your face. You accompanied Monsieur de Lauzun to Pignerol. Tell me everything you can remember." Her manner is quick and hurried, her breath comes fast.

"Your highness, I left the Comte de Lauzun in good health."

"Thank God!" ejaculated Mademoiselle, clasping her hands.

She feels so faint she is obliged to ask the Queen's permission to open the window.

"Was he indisposed on his long journey?"

"No, Madame; he was perfectly well. I never left him. Even at night I slept in the same chamber. Such were my instructions."

"Did he speak to you of me?" asked Mademoiselle in a faltering voice, blushing deeply.

"Constantly, your highness. He spoke of you with the utmost devotion. Next to the grief Monsieur de Lauzun felt at parting from your royal highness, I am persuaded he suffered most from the displeasure of his Majesty."

"Proceed, I entreat you," breaks in Mademoiselle eagerly. "Every word you say is inexpressibly precious to me. When did Lauzun first speak to you of me, and what did he say?"

"I must tell you," continues the artful D'Artagnan, watching her as a cat does a mouse – "I must tell your highness that before these unfortunate events I had avoided the Comte de Lauzun. I imagined he despised every one."

Mademoiselle shakes her head.

"Proper pride – a conscious superiority," she murmurs.

"Well, madame, when he was arrested on St. Catherine's day, at Saint-Germain, the Comte de Rochefort brought him into the guard-room, and consigned him to me. I started at once with him on his journey to Pignerol. From time to time he gazed at me, but did not utter a single word. When we passed your villa at Petit Bourg, he groaned, and tears gathered in his eyes."

"Poor Lauzun!" says Mademoiselle softly, lifting up her eyes.

"'That villa,' said the Count to me, 'belongs to Mademoiselle. Words cannot tell what I owe her. She is as good as she is great.'"

"Did Lauzun really say this?" asks Mademoiselle, with melting eyes.

"He did, madame," rejoins D'Artagnan with secret exultation at seeing how the bait is swallowed. "'I am unhappy, Captain d'Artagnan', he went on to say, 'unhappy, but not guilty. I have served my King faithfully. I have worshipped Mademoiselle – not for her wealth, but for herself.'"

Mademoiselle puts her handkerchief to her eyes. She is convulsed with suppressed sobs.

"Yes, madame; this and much more was said to me by the Count. Indeed, his words were so touching that, soldier as I am, I wept, your highness – I actually wept."

"Excellent man," mutters Mademoiselle, stretching out her hand towards him. "I shall not forget your appreciation of so noble a gentleman."

D'Artagnan makes a profound obeisance.

("My promotion is now assured," he says to himself, "as well as poor Lauzun's pardon. Mademoiselle has great interest with his Majesty.")

D'Artagnan passes his hand across his eyes, as if to brush away tears, which he does not shed.

"I have seen much since I served his Majesty," – he continues in broken sentences, simulating deep grief. "I am an observer of human nature; – but never – never did I know a man of such elevation of mind, with feelings so warm, so genuine, as Monsieur de Lauzun. The charms of his person, the dignity of his manners, his fortitude and patience in adversity, are more honourable to him than the splendour of his position as the first nobleman in France."

Mademoiselle, unable to contain her feelings, lays her hand upon D'Artagnan's hand, and presses it.

"Your penetration does you honour, Monsieur d'Artagnan. Yet so mean, so base is the envy of a Court, that it is whispered about, loud enough even for me in my exalted position to hear, that Lauzun cares only for my revenues – not for myself."

"Good God, what a slander!" cried D'Artagnan, with a face of well-simulated horror.

"Yes; but I do not believe it," hastily adds Mademoiselle.

"I can pledge my honour as a soldier, your highness, it is a lie," breaks in D'Artagnan, anxious for his friend's prospects.

"I know it – I know it," answers Mademoiselle with triumph.

"Ah, madame," continues D'Artagnan, shaking with suppressed laughter, "did I not fear to offend your delicacy, I could say more."

"Ah! did Lauzun speak often of me?" she asks, and a fire comes into her sunken eyes. "Tell me."

"He spoke of nothing else. Day and night your name was on his lips. My honour as a Gascon upon it."

"Repeat this to me," cries Mademoiselle with ecstasy.

"You little know, your highness, what tortures he suffers at being separated from you."

"Alas! Monsieur d'Artagnan, he cannot suffer more than I!" and Mademoiselle's sigh is almost a groan.

"Your highness has great influence over his Majesty. Is it possible that his imprisonment may be shortened?"

"Can you doubt that my whole life, my influence, my wealth, all I have, will be devoted to this object?" exclaims Mademoiselle.

("Good," thinks D'Artagnan, "I have served my poor friend, and I hope myself, well. What an imbecile she is!")

At this moment there is a general move. The Queen, who has been playing cards, rises, and Mademoiselle is forced to accompany her.

Years pass; Lauzun still remains a prisoner at Pignerol.

Mademoiselle is at the Luxembourg. She is sitting in her closet writing, when a page enters, and announces Madame de Maintenon. This lady is now the recognised governess of the legitimatised children of the King, the bosom friend of their mother, the Marquise de Montespan. Already she is scheming to supplant her in the King's affections. Madame de Maintenon is singularly handsome. Her face is pale; her complexion marble-like; her eyes are large and lustrous, though somewhat fixed and stern. Her glossy dark hair is raised high on her head, and a mantilla of lace is thrown over it. Her dress is of a sombre colour, but of the richest material. It rustles along the ground, as, with measured steps, she advances towards Mademoiselle. The latter is conscious of the stately bearing of the governess, who dares not, however, presume first to address her. Mademoiselle does not rise, but bends her head in acknowledgment of her salutation. She signs to Madame de Maintenon to be seated.

"You are come alone, Madame," says the Princess. "I should have rejoiced to see your little charges – those dear children of whom I am so fond. Are they well?"

"I am happy to inform your highness they are in perfect health. The Duc de Maine looked lovely this morning when he went with me to mass in the royal chapel. I have come to bring you a little letter he has written to your highness," and the Marquise presents a note addressed in a schoolboy's hand. "Ever since he has corresponded with you, during his stay at Holland and at Barège, he finds such pleasure in writing to you, I do not like to forbid it."

"The dear child! I love him greatly," replies Mademoiselle, secretly wondering on what errand Madame de Maintenon had come.

"I have the honour to inform your royal highness," says the Marquise after a pause, fixing her black eyes keenly upon her, "my visit to you is official. I come from the King."

Mademoiselle falls back in her chair; a mist gathers before her eyes. "It must be about Lauzun she has come!" is her first thought.

"But before I proceed to the subject of my mission," continues Madame de Maintenon, speaking in a clear metallic voice, all the while contemplating Mademoiselle as if she were an object of minute study – "but before I proceed, allow me to offer to your highness the compliments of Madame de Montespan, who is hunting at Clagny with the King. She bids me pray you to think of everything to please his Majesty, in order that he may be inclined to grant what you have so much at heart."

Mademoiselle colours, and presses her hand to her heart, so violently does it throb.

"Madame de Montespan," continues the Marquise, "has the highest admiration for the constancy and the fortitude you have shown on a certain subject, madame. May I add my tribute of sympathy also?"

Mademoiselle smiles, and bows graciously. She is not ignorant of the growing power of the governess, and her high favour with the King.

"We who live at Court," adds the Marquise loftily, "know too well how often great princes forget those whom they once loved. Your highness is an illustrious exception. May I, madame, be permitted to address you on this delicate subject? It is the purpose of my visit."

"I entreat you to speak," cries Mademoiselle, greatly excited. "Tell me at once. I cannot bear suspense. Tell me, is his Majesty about to liberate Monsieur de Lauzun after so many years of imprisonment?"

"Well," replies Madame de Maintenon, with an air of immense importance, "you shall judge, Princess. His Majesty thinks that it is possible, under certain conditions – "

"Will he acknowledge Lauzun as my husband?"

"He will never sanction the marriage, your highness," answers the Marquise decidedly, avoiding Mademoiselle's eager gaze.

Here is a blow! Mademoiselle is absolutely stunned. Madame de Maintenon proceeds in the same monotonous tone: —

"His Majesty has considered the possibility of liberating Monsieur de Lauzun, but there are difficulties, not perhaps insurmountable, but which at present render his gracious intention impossible."

"Name them," cries Mademoiselle almost fiercely, suddenly sitting upright in her chair – "name them instantly." She has turned ashy pale; her hands, which she extends towards the other lady in her agitation, tremble. She is a pitiable object.