uld see you spend the time that
is left to you, sire, in building up the Church, in showing a noble
example to your subjects, and in repairing any evil which that example
may have done in the past."

The king sank back into his chair with a groan. "Forever the same,"
said he. "Why, you are worse than Father la Chaise and Bossuet."

"Nay, nay," said she gaily, with the quick tact in which she never
failed. "I have wearied you, when you have stooped to honour my little
room with your presence. That is indeed ingratitude, and it were a just
punishment if you were to leave me in solitude to-morrow, and so cut off
all the light of my day. But tell me, sire, how go the works at Marly?
I am all on fire to know whether the great fountain will work."

"Yes, the fountain plays well, but Mansard has thrown the right wing too
far back. I have made him a good architect, but I have still much to
teach him. I showed him his fault on the plan this morning, and he
promised to amend it."

"And what will the change cost, sire?"

"Some millions of livres, but then the view will be much improved from
the south side. I have taken in another mile of ground in that
direction, for there were a number of poor folk living there, and their
hovels were far from pretty."

"And why have you not ridden to-day, sire?"

"Pah! it brings me no pleasure. There was a time when my blood was
stirred by the blare of the horn and the rush of the hoofs, but now it
is all wearisome to me."

"And hawking too?"

"Yes; I shall hawk no more."

"But, sire, you must have amusement."

"What is so dull as an amusement which has ceased to amuse? I know not
how it is. When I was but a lad, and my mother and I were driven from
place to place, with the Fronde at war with us and Paris in revolt, with
our throne and even our lives in danger, all life seemed to be so
bright, so new, and so full of interest. Now that there is no shadow,
and that my voice is the first in France, as France's is in Europe, all
is dull and lacking in flavour. What use is it to have all pleasure
before me, when it turns to wormwood when it is tasted?"

"True pleasure, sire, lies rather in the inward life, the serene mind,
the easy conscience. And then, as we grow older, is it not natural that
our minds should take a graver bent? We might well reproach ourselves
if it were not so, for it would show that we had not learned the lesson
of life."

"It may be so, and yet it