looked inquiringly as much at her as at La
Valliere; she had every reason to suppose that it was herself who
was appealed to, and consequently might be permitted to answer. She
therefore said: "Sire, the horse which your majesty is riding belongs to
Monsieur, and was being led by one of his royal highness's gentlemen."

"And what is that gentleman's name, may I ask, mademoiselle?"

"M. de Malicorne, sire."

The name produced its usual effect, for the king repeated it smilingly.

"Yes, sire," replied Aure. "Stay, it is the gentleman who is galloping
on my left hand;" and she pointed out Malicorne, who, with a very
sanctified expression, was galloping by the side of the carriage,
knowing perfectly well that they were talking of him at that very
moment, but sitting in his saddle as if he were deaf and dumb.

"Yes," said the king, "that is the gentleman; I remember his face, and
will not forget his name;" and the king looked tenderly at La Valliere.

Aure had now nothing further to do; she had let Malicorne's name fall;
the soil was good; all that was now left to be done was to let the
name take root, and the event would bear fruit in due season. She
consequently threw herself back in her corner, feeling perfectly
justified in making as many agreeable signs of recognition as she liked
to Malicorne, since the latter had had the happiness of pleasing the
king. As will readily be believed, Montalais was not mistaken; and
Malicorne, with his quick ear and his sly look, seemed to interpret
her remark as "All goes on well," the whole being accompanied by a
pantomimic action, which he fancied conveyed something resembling a
kiss.

"Alas! mademoiselle," said the king, after a moment's pause, "the
liberty and freedom of the country is soon about to cease; your
attendance on Madame will be more strictly enforced, and we shall see
each other no more."

"Your majesty is too much attached to Madame," replied Louise, "not to
come and see her very frequently; and whenever your majesty may chance
to pass across the apartments--"

"Ah!" said the king, in a tender voice, which was gradually lowered in
its tone, "to perceive is not to see, and yet it seems that it would be
quite sufficient for you."

Louise did not answer a syllable; a sigh filled her heart almost to
bursting, but she stifled it.

"You exercise a great control over yourself," said the king to Louise,
who smiled upon him with a melancholy expression. "Exert the st