astonishment! Three nuns were absent, and
despite our entreaties and the commands of their superiors, they
persisted in their rebellion and their refusal. They set up to keep
rules before all things, and observe the duties of their religion, lying
thus to their Abbess and their conscience. It was all mere spite. Of
this there can be no doubt, for one of these refractory creatures, as it
transpired, was a cousin of the Marquis de Lauzun, my so-called victim;
while the other two were near relatives of Mademoiselle de Mauldon, an
intimate friend of M. de Meaux.

In spite of these three silly absentees, we enjoyed ourselves greatly,
and had much innocent amusement; while they, who could watch us from
their windows, were probably mad with rage to think they were not of our
number.

My sister complained of them to the Bishop of Poitiers, who severely
blamed them for such conduct; and seeing that he could not induce them to
offer me an apology, sent them away to three different convents.

CHAPTER LX.

The Page-Dauphin.--A Billet from the King.--Madame de Maintenon's
Letter.--The King as Avenger.--His Sentence on the Murderers.

The great liberty which we enjoyed at Fontevrault, compared with the
interminable bondage of Saint Germain or Versailles, made the abbey ever
seem more agreeable to me; and Madame de Thianges asked me in sober
earnest "if I no longer loved the King."

"Of course I do," was my answer; "but may one not love oneself just a
little bit, too? To me, health is life; and I assure you, at
Fontevrault, my dear sister, I sleep most soundly, and have quite got rid
of all my nervous attacks and headaches."

We were just talking thus when Madame de Mortemart entered my room, and
introduced young Chamilly, the Page-Dauphin,--[The chief page-in-waiting
bore the title of Page-Dauphin]--who brought with him a letter from the
King. He also had one for me from Madame de Maintenon, rallying me upon
my absence and giving me news of my children. The King's letter was
quite short, but a king's note such as that is worth a whole pile of
commonplace letters. I transcribe it here:

I am jealous; an unusual thing for me. And I am much vexed, I confess,
with Madame de Mortemart, who might have chosen a very different moment
to be ill. I am ignorant as to the nature of her malady, but if it be
serious, and of those which soon grow more dangerous, she has played me a
very sorry trick in sending for you to ac