is not great, as I
have told you; but such as it is, I lend it to you entirely, provided,
however, that this angel does not stoop to commit mortal sins," added
she, with a meaning look. "I heard his name pronounced this night by
voices most unworthy of him."

"Oh, Madame, I would swear that he knows nothing of it!"

"Ah, my child, do not speak of State affairs. You are not yet learned
enough in them. Let me sleep, if I can, before the hour of my toilette.
My eyes are burning, and yours also, perhaps."

Saying these words, the amiable Queen laid her head upon the pillow
which covered the casket, and soon Marie saw her fall asleep through
sheer fatigue. She then rose, and, seating herself in a great,
tapestried, square armchair, clasped her hands upon her knees, and began
to reflect upon her painful situation. Consoled by the aspect of her
gentle protectress, she often raised her eyes to watch her slumber, and
sent her in secret all the blessings which love showers upon those who
protect it, sometimes kissing the curls of her blond hair, as if by this
kiss she could convey to her soul all the ideas favorable to the thought
ever present to her mind.

The Queen's slumber was prolonged, while Marie thought and wept.
However, she remembered that at ten o'clock she must appear at the royal
toilette before all the court. She resolved to cast aside reflection,
to dry her tears, and she took a thick folio volume placed upon a table
inlaid with enamel and medallions; it was the 'Astree' of M. d'Urfe--a
work 'de belle galanterie' adored by the fair prudes of the court. The
unsophisticated and straightforward mind of Marie could not enter into
these pastoral loves. She was too simple to understand the 'bergeres
du Lignon', too clever to be pleased at their discourse, and too
impassioned to feel their tenderness. However, the great popularity of
the romance so far influenced her that she sought to compel herself to
take an interest in it; and, accusing herself internally every time that
she felt the ennui which exhaled from the pages of the book, she ran
through it with impatience to find something to please and transport
her. An engraving arrested her attention. It represented the shepherdess
Astree with high-heeled shoes, a corset, and an immense farthingale,
standing on tiptoe to watch floating down the river the tender Celadon,
drowning himself in despair at having, been somewhat coldly received in
the morning. Without expla