out everything."

La Valliere was just on the point of revealing the whole truth to the
king; her arms made a sudden movement as if they were about to open, but
her lips remained silent, and her arms again fell listlessly by her
side. The poor girl had not yet endured sufficient unhappiness to risk
the necessary revelation. "I know nothing," she stammered out.

"Oh!" exclaimed the king, "this is no longer mere coquetry, or caprice,
it is treason."

And this time nothing could restrain him; the impulses of his heart were
not sufficient to induce him to turn back, and he darted out of the room
with a gesture full of despair. Saint-Aignan followed him, wishing for
nothing better than to leave the place.

Louis XIV. did not pause until he reached the staircase, and grasping
the balustrade, said: "You see how shamefully I have been duped."

"How, sire?" inquired the favorite.

"Guiche fought on the Vicomte de Bragelonne's account, and this
Bragelonne ... oh! Saint-Aignan, she still loves him. I vow to you,
Saint-Aignan, that, if in three day's hence, there were to remain but an
atom of affection for her in my heart, I should die from very shame."
And the king resumed his way to his own apartments.

"I assured your majesty how it would be," murmured Saint-Aignan,
continuing to follow the king, and timidly glancing up at the different
windows. Unfortunately their return was different to what their
departure had been. A curtain was stealthily drawn aside; Madame was
behind it. She had seen the king leave the apartments of the maids of
honor, and as soon as she observed that his majesty had passed, she left
her own apartments with hurried steps, and ran up the staircase, which
led to the room the king had just left.

CHAPTER XXXII.

DESPAIR.

As soon as the king had left her, La Valliere raised herself from the
ground, and extended her arms, as if to follow and detain him; but when,
having violently closed the door, the sound of his retreating footsteps
could be heard in the distance, she had hardly sufficient strength left
to totter toward and fall at the foot of her crucifix. There she
remained, brokenhearted, absorbed and overwhelmed by her grief,
forgetful of and indifferent to everything but her profound grief
itself--a grief which she could not comprehend otherwise than by
instinct and acute sensation. In the midst of the wild tumult of her
thoughts, La Valliere heard her door open again; she started, a