ected than that quiet, subdued manner, compressed lips,
and uplifted eye. Now-a-days such a mode of dissembling would be too
flimsy to impose even on children; and hypocrites are ever greater
proficients in their art than was even M. de Rumas.

Madame de Mirepoix left us alone together, in order that I might
converse more freely with him. I knew not how to begin, but made many
attempts to convey, in an indirect manner, the reasons for his being
summoned to that day's conference. However, hints and insinuations were
alike thrown away upon one who had determined neither to use eye's nor
ears but as interest pointed out the reasonableness of so doing;
and accordingly, unable longer to repress my impatience, I exclaimed
abruptly,

"Pray, sir, do you know who I am?"

"Yes, madam," replied he, with a profound bow, and look of the deepest
humility, "you are the comtesse du Barry."

"Well, sir," added I, "and you are equally well aware, no doubt, of the
relation in which I stand to the king?"

"But, madam--"

"Nay, sir, answer without hesitation; I wish you to be candid, otherwise
my exceeding frankness may displease you."

"I know, madam," replied the hypocrite, "that his majesty finds great
pleasure in your charming society."

"And yet, sir," answered I, "his majesty experiences equal delight in
the company of your wife. How answer you that, M. de Rumas?"

"My wife, madam!"

"Yes, sir, in the company of madame de Rumas; he pays her many private
visits, secretly corresponds with her--"

"The confidence of his majesty must ever honor his subjects."

"But," replied I, quickly, "may dishonor a husband."

"How, madam! What is it you would insinuate?"

"That your wife would fain supplant me, and that she is now the mistress
of the king, although compelled to be such in secret."

"Impossible," exclaimed M. de Rumas, "and some enemy to my wife has thus
aspersed her to you."

"And do you treat it as a mere calumny?" said I. "No, sir, nothing can
be more true; and if you would wish further confirmation, behold the
letter which madame de Rumas wrote to the king only the day before
yesterday; take it and read it."

"Heaven preserve me, madam," exclaimed the time-serving wretch, "from.
presuming to cast my eyes over what is meant only for his majesty's
gracious perusal; it would be an act of treason I am not capable of
committing."

"Then, sir," returned I, "I may reasonably conclude that it is with your
sanction a