my hands, I should change the world's history."

"Hush! No treason to the captain of the guard," cried De Catinat,
laughing, while the stern old soldier strode past him into the king's
presence.

A gentleman very richly dressed in black and silver had come up during
this short conversation, and advanced, as the door opened, with the
assured air of a man whose rights are beyond dispute. Captain de
Catinat, however, took a quick step forward, and barred him off from the
door.

"I am very sorry, Monsieur de Vivonne," said he, "but you are forbidden
the presence."

"Forbidden the presence! I? You are mad!" He stepped back with gray
face and staring eyes, one shaking hand half raised in protest,

"I assure you that it is his order."

"But it is incredible. It is a mistake."

"Very possibly."

"Then you will let me past."

"My orders leave me no discretion."

"If I could have one word with the king."

"Unfortunately, monsieur, it is impossible."

"Only one word."

"It really does not rest with me, monsieur."

The angry nobleman stamped his foot, and stared at the door as though he
had some thoughts of forcing a passage. Then turning on his heel, he
hastened away down the corridor with the air of a man who has come to a
decision.

"There, now," grumbled De Catinat to himself, as he pulled at his thick
dark moustache, "he is off to make some fresh mischief. I'll have his
sister here presently, as like as not, and a pleasant little choice
between breaking my orders and making an enemy of her for life.
I'd rather hold Fort Richelieu against the Iroquois than the king's door
against an angry woman. By my faith, here _is_ a lady, as I feared!
Ah, Heaven be praised! it is a friend, and not a foe. Good-morning,
Mademoiselle Nanon."

"Good-morning, Captain de Catinat."

The new-comer was a tall, graceful brunette, her fresh face and
sparkling black eyes the brighter in contrast with her plain dress.

"I am on guard, you see. I cannot talk with you."

"I cannot remember having asked monsieur to talk with me."

"Ah, but you must not pout in that pretty way, or else I cannot help
talking to you," whispered the captain. "What is this in your hand,
then?"

"A note from Madame de Maintenon to the king. You will hand it to him,
will you not?"

"Certainly, mademoiselle. And how is Madame, your mistress?"

"Oh, her director has been with her all the morning, and his talk is
very, very good; but it