our
parent and your monarch."

The young man bowed low, and walked with dignity from the chamber; but
he turned with his hand upon the door.

"The Abbe Fenelon came with me, sire. Is it your pleasure to see him?"

"Away! away!" cried the king furiously, still striding up and down the
room with angry face and flashing eyes. The dauphin left the cabinet,
and was instantly succeeded by a tall thin priest, some forty years of
age, strikingly handsome, with a pale refined face, large well-marked
features, and the easy deferential bearing of one who has had a long
training in courts. The king turned sharply upon him, and looked hard
at him with a distrustful eye.

"Good-day, Abbe Fenelon," said he. "May I ask what the object of this
interview is?"

"You have had the condescension, sire, on more than one occasion, to ask
my humble advice, and even to express yourself afterwards as being
pleased that you had acted upon it."

"Well? Well? Well?" growled the monarch.

"If rumour says truly, sire, you are now at a crisis when a word of
impartial counsel might be of value to you. Need I say that it
would--"

"Tut! tut! Why all these words?" cried the king. "You have been sent
here by others to try and influence me against Madame de Maintenon."

"Sire, I have had nothing but kindness from that lady. I esteem and
honour her more than any lady in France."

"In that case, abbe, you will, I am sure, be glad to hear that I am
about to marry her. Good-day, abbe. I regret that I have not longer
time to devote to this very interesting conversation."

"But, sire--"

"When my mind is in doubt, abbe, I value your advice very highly.
On this occasion my mind is happily _not_ in doubt. I have the honour
to wish you a very good-day."

The king's first hot anger had died away by now, and had left behind it
a cold, bitter spirit which was even more formidable to his antagonists.
The abbe, glib of tongue and fertile of resource as he was, felt himself
to be silenced and overmatched. He walked backwards, with three long
bows, as was the custom of the court, and departed.

But the king had little breathing space. His assailants knew that with
persistence they had bent his will before, and they trusted that they
might do so again. It was Louvois, the minister, now who entered the
room, with his majestic port, his lofty bearing, his huge wig, and his
aristocratic face, which, however, showed some signs of trepidation