ercules in the case of the Laernean
Hydra, and Theseus in that of the Minotaur, vanquish the threatening
monster who was eating up all love-delight, and darkening all joy into
deep sorrow and inconsolable mourning.

Serious as the subject was, this poem was not deficient in most
wittily-turned phrases, particularly where it described the state of
watchful anxiety in which lovers had to glide to their lady-loves, and
how this mental strain necessarily destroyed all love-happiness, and
nipped all adventures of "galanterie" in the very bud. And, as it
wound up with a high-flown panegyric of Louis XIV., the King could not
but read it with visible satisfaction. When he perused it, he turned
to Madame de Maintenon--without taking his eyes from it--read it
again--aloud this time--and then asked, with a pleased smile, what she
thought of the petition of the 'Endangered Lovers.' Madame de
Maintenon, faithful to her serious turn, and ever wearing the garb of a
certain piousness, answered that hidden and forbidden ways did not
deserve much in the form of protection, but that the criminals probably
did require special laws for their punishment. The King, not satisfied
with this answer, folded the paper up, and was going back to the
Secretary of State, who was at work in the ante-room, when, happening
to glance sideways, his eyes rested on Mademoiselle Scuderi, who was
present, seated in a little arm-chair. He went straight to her; and the
pleased smile which had at first been playing about his mouth and
cheeks--but had disappeared--resumed the ascendency again. Standing
close before her, with his face unwrinkling itself, he said--

"The Marquise does not know, and has no desire to learn, anything about
the 'galanteries' of our enamoured gentlemen, and evades the subject in
ways which are nothing less than forbidden. But, Mademoiselle, what do
_you_ think of this poetical petition?"

Mademoiselle Scuderi rose from her chair; a transient blush, like the
purple of the evening sky, passed across her pale cheeks, and, gently
bending forward, she answered, with downcast eyes--

"Un amant qui craint les voleurs.
N'est point digne d'amour."

The King, surprised, and struck by admiration at the chivalrous spirit
of those few words--which completely took the wind out of the sails of
the poem, with all its ell-long tirades--cried, with flashing eyes--

"By Saint Denis, you are right, Mademoiselle! No blind laws, t