t is all the same," she murmured; "it will not be a very worthy
alliance."

"Must I swear?" inquired the king, intoxicated by the voluptuous turn
the whole conversation had taken.

"Oh, I will not refuse to witness a resounding oath," said Madame; "it
has always the _semblance_ of security."

The king knelt upon a footstool and took Madame's hand. She, with a
smile that no painter could ever succeed in depicting, and which a poet
might only imagine, gave him both her hands, in which he hid his burning
face. Neither of them could utter a syllable. The king felt Madame
withdraw her hands, caressing his face while she did so. He rose
immediately and left the apartment. The courtiers remarked his
heightened color, and concluded that the scene had been a stormy one.
The Chevalier de Lorraine, however, hastened to say, "Nay, be comforted,
gentlemen, his majesty is always pale when he is angry."

Chapter XXXIV. The Advisers.

The king left Madame in a state of agitation it would have been
difficult even for himself to have explained. It is impossible, in fact,
to depict the secret play of those strange sympathies which, suddenly
and apparently without any cause, are excited, after many years passed
in the greatest calmness and indifference, by two hearts destined to
love each other. Why had Louis formerly disdained, almost hated, Madame?
Why did he now find the same woman so beautiful, so captivating? And
why, not only were his thoughts occupied about her, but still more, why
were they so continuously occupied about her? Why, in fact, had Madame,
whose eyes and mind were sought for in another direction, shown during
the last week towards the king a semblance of favor which encouraged
the belief of still greater regard. It must not be supposed that Louis
proposed to himself any plan of seduction; the tie which united Madame
to his brother was, or at least, seemed to him, an insuperable barrier;
he was even too far removed from that barrier to perceive its existence.
But on the downward path of those passions in which the heart rejoices,
towards which youth impels us, no one can decide where to stop, not even
the man who has in advance calculated all the chances of his own success
or another's submission. As far as Madame was concerned, her regard
for the king may easily be explained: she was young, a coquette, and
ardently fond of admiration. Hers was one of those buoyant, impetuous
natures, which upon a theatre would