e King. There is only the
Cardinal, the eternal Cardinal, and he is his enemy; and perhaps this
disturbance--"

"Alas! it is the beginning of war between them. I saw it at once."

"He is lost then!" exclaimed the Queen, embracing Marie. "Pardon me, my
child, for thus afflicting you; but in times like these we must see all
and say all. Yes, he is lost if he does not himself overthrow this wicked
man--for the King will not renounce him; force alone--"

"He will overthrow him, Madame. He will do it, if you will assist him.
You are the divinity of France. Oh, I conjure you, protect the angel
against the demon! It is your cause, that of your royal family, that of
all your nation."

The Queen smiled.

"It is, above all, your cause, my child; and it is as such that I will
embrace it to the utmost extent of my power. That is not great, as I have
told you; but such as it is, I lend it to you entirely, provided,
however, that this angel does not stoop to commit mortal sins," added
she, with a meaning look. "I heard his name pronounced this night by
voices most unworthy of him."

"Oh, Madame, I would swear that he knows nothing of it!"

"Ah, my child, do not speak of State affairs. You are not yet learned
enough in them. Let me sleep, if I can, before the hour of my toilette.
My eyes are burning, and yours also, perhaps."

Saying these words, the amiable Queen laid her head upon the pillow which
covered the casket, and soon Marie saw her fall asleep through sheer
fatigue. She then rose, and, seating herself in a great, tapestried,
square armchair, clasped her hands upon her knees, and began to reflect
upon her painful situation. Consoled by the aspect of her gentle
protectress, she often raised her eyes to watch her slumber, and sent her
in secret all the blessings which love showers upon those who protect it,
sometimes kissing the curls of her blond hair, as if by this kiss she
could convey to her soul all the ideas favorable to the thought ever
present to her mind.

The Queen's slumber was prolonged, while Marie thought and wept. However,
she remembered that at ten o'clock she must appear at the royal toilette
before all the court. She resolved to cast aside reflection, to dry her
tears, and she took a thick folio volume placed upon a table inlaid with
enamel and medallions; it was the 'Astree' of M. d'Urfe--a work 'de belle
galanterie' adored by the fair prudes of the court. The unsophisticated
and straightforward mi