"You love me, then, sire?"

"On my knees, yes; with my hands upraised to you, yes; with all the
strength and power of my being, yes; I love you so deeply that I would
happily lay down my life for you, at your merest wish."

"Oh! sire, now that I know you love me, I have nothing to wish for in
the whole world. Give me your hand, sire; and then farewell! I have
enjoyed in this life all the happiness which I was destined to meet
with."

"Oh! no, no! your happiness is not a happiness of yesterday, it is of
to-day, of to-morrow, ever-enduring. The future is yours, everything
which is mine is yours too. Away with these ideas of separation, away
with these gloomy, despairing thoughts. You will live for me, as I will
live for you, Louise." And he threw himself at her feet, embracing her
knees with the wildest transports of joy and gratitude.

"Oh! sire, sire! all that is but a wild dream."

"Why a wild dream?"

"Because I cannot return to the court. Exiled, how can I see you again?
Would it not be far better to bury myself in a cloister for the rest of
my life, with the rich consolation that your affection gives me, with
the latest pulses of your heart beating for me, and your latest
confession of attachment still ringing in my ears?"

"Exiled, you!" exclaimed Louis XIV., "and who dares to exile, let me
ask, when I recall?"

"Oh! sire, something which is greater than and superior to kings
even--the world and public opinion. Reflect for a moment; you cannot
love a woman who has been ignominiously driven away--love one, whom your
mother has stained with suspicion; one, whom your sister has threatened
with disgrace; such a woman, indeed, would be unworthy of you."

"Unworthy! one who belongs to me?"

"Yes, sire, precisely on that account; from the very moment she belongs
to you, the character of your mistress renders her unworthy."

"You are right, Louise, every shade of delicacy of feeling is yours.
Very well, you shall not be exiled."

"Ah! from the tone in which you speak, you have not heard Madame, that
is very clear."

"I will appeal from her to my mother."

"Again, sire, you have not seen your mother."

"She, also! poor Louise! every one's hand, then, is against you."

"Yes, yes, poor Louise, who was already bending beneath the fury of the
storm, when you arrived and crushed her beneath the weight of your
displeasure."

"Oh! forgive me."

"You will not, I know, be able to make either of them yield;