"Madame is coming, monseigneur," replied the sister, respectfully.

"It is well," murmured the regent, somewhat impatiently.

"Monseigneur, remember the parable of Jesus driving out the
money-changers from the temple; you know it, or ought to know it, for I
taught it you when I was your preceptor. Now, drive out these musicians,
these Pharisees, these comedians and anatomists; three only of each
profession will make a nice escort for our return."

"Do not fear, I am in a preaching vein."

"Then," replied Dubois, rising, "that is most fortunate, for here she
is."

At this moment a door, leading to the interior of the convent, was
opened, and the person so impatiently expected appeared.

Let us explain who was this worthy person who had succeeded, by repeated
follies, in rousing the anger of Philippe d'Orleans, the most indulgent
man and father in France.

Mademoiselle de Chartres, Louise-Adelaide-d'Orleans, was the second and
prettiest of the regent's daughters. She had a beautiful complexion,
fine eyes, a good figure, and well-shaped hands. Her teeth were
splendid, and her grandmother, the princess palatine, compared them to a
string of pearls in a coral casket. She danced well, sang better, and
played at sight. She had learned of Cauchereau, one of the first artists
at the opera, with whom she had made much more progress than is common
with ladies, and especially with princesses. It is true that she was
most assiduous; the secret of that assiduity will be shortly revealed.

All her tastes were masculine. She appeared to have changed sex with her
brother Louis. She loved dogs and horses; amused herself with pistols
and foils, but cared little for any feminine occupations.

Her chief predilection, however, was for music; she seldom missed a
night at the opera when her master Cauchereau performed; and once, when
he surpassed himself in an air, she exclaimed, "Bravo, bravo, my dear
Cauchereau!" in a voice audible to the whole house.

The Duchesse d'Orleans judged that the exclamation was somewhat
indiscreet for a princess of the blood, and decided that Mademoiselle
Chartres knew enough of music. Cauchereau was well paid, and desired not
to return to the Palais Royal. The duchess also begged her daughter to
spend a fortnight at the convent of Chelles, the abbess of which, a
sister of Marechal de Villars, was a friend of hers.

It was doubtless during this retreat that mademoiselle--who did
everything by fits and