mestic intrigues? Come, tell me what you think?"

"As little as possible, madame."

"Agreed, monsieur; but it is a question of dignity; and then, you know,
I am the wife of the king's brother." Guiche sighed. "A circumstance,"
she added, with an expression of great tenderness, "which will remind
you that I am always to be treated with the profoundest respect." Guiche
fell at her feet, which he kissed, with the religious fervor of a
worshiper. "And I begin to think that, really and truly, I have another
character to perform. I was almost forgetting it."

"Name it, oh! name it," said Guiche.

"I am a woman," she said, in a voice lower than ever, "and I love
another." He rose; she opened her arms, and their lips were pressed
together. A footstep was heard behind the tapestry, and Mademoiselle de
Montalais appeared.

"What do you want?" said Madame.

"M. de Guiche is wanted," replied Montalais, who was just in time to see
the agitation of the actors of these four characters; for Guiche had
constantly carried out his part with the greatest heroism.

CHAPTER XVIII.

MONTALAIS AND MALICORNE.

Montalais was right. M. de Guiche, summoned in every direction, was very
much exposed, even from the multiplication of matters, to the risk of
not answering in any one direction. It so happened that, considering the
awkwardness of the interruption, Madame, notwithstanding her wounded
pride, and her secret anger, could not, for the moment at least,
reproach Montalais for having violated, in so bold a manner, the
semi-royal order with which she had been dismissed on Guiche's
entrance. Guiche, also, lost his presence of mind, or, it would be
better to say, that he had already lost it before Montalais's arrival;
for, scarcely had he heard the young girl's voice, than, without taking
leave of Madame, as the most ordinary politeness required, even between
persons equal in rank and station, he fled from her presence, his heart
tumultuously throbbing, and his brain on fire, leaving the princess with
one hand raised, as though about to bid him adieu. Montalais was at no
loss, therefore, to perceive the agitation of the two lovers--the one
who fled was agitated, and the one who remained was equally so.

"So, so," murmured the young girl, as she glanced inquisitively round
her, "this time, at least, I think I know as much as the most curious
woman could possibly wish to know." Madame felt so embarrassed by this
inquisitorial look