sad truth. It is that the King
loves no one, and that those who appear the most in favor will be the
soonest abandoned by him, and thrown to him who engulfs and devours
all."

"Ah, mon Dieu! what is this you tell me?"

"Do you know how many he has destroyed?" continued the Queen, in a low
voice, and looking into her eyes as if to read in them all her thoughts,
and to make her own penetrate there. "Do you know the end of his
favorites? Have you been told of the exile of Baradas; of that of
Saint-Simon; of the convent of Mademoiselle de la Fayette, the shame of
Madame d'Hautfort, the death of Chalais? All have fallen before an order
from Richelieu to his master. Without this favor, which you mistake
for friendship, their lives would have been peaceful. But this favor is
mortal; it is a poison. Look at this tapestry, which represents Semele.
The favorites of Louis XIII resemble that woman; his attachment devours
like this fire, which dazzles and consumes her."

But the young Duchess was no longer in a condition to listen to the
Queen. She continued to fix her large, dark eyes upon her, dimmed by a
veil of tears; her hands trembled in those of Anne of Austria, and her
lips quivered with convulsive agitation.

"I am very cruel, am I not, Marie?" continued the Queen, in an extremely
sweet voice, and caressing her like a child from whom one would draw an
avowal. "Oh, yes; no doubt I am very wicked! Your heart is full; you can
not bear it, my child. Come, tell me; how do matters stand with you and
Monsieur de Cinq-Mars?"

At this word grief found a vent, and, still on her knees at the Queen's
feet, Marie in her turn shed upon the bosom of the good Princess a
deluge of tears, with childish sobs and so violent an agitation of her
head and her beautiful shoulders that it seemed as if her heart would
break. The Queen waited a long time for the end of this first emotion,
rocking her in her arms as if to appease her grief, frequently
repeating, "My child, my child, do not afflict yourself thus!"

"Ah, Madame!" she exclaimed, "I have been guilty toward you; but I did
not reckon upon that heart. I have done wrong, and I shall perhaps be
punished severely for it. But, alas! how shall I venture to confess
to you, Madame? It was not so much to open my heart to you that was
difficult; it was to avow to you that I had need to read there myself."

The Queen reflected a moment, laying her finger upon her lips. "You are
right," she the