st
watchfulness on my part whenever we turned a corner or passed the mouth
of an alley, was brought to an end by our safe arrival at the house.
Briefly apologising to the king for the meanness and darkness of the
staircase, I begged leave to precede him, and rapidly mounted until I
met Maignan. Whispering to him that all was well, I did not wait to hear
his answer, but, bidding him be on the watch, I led the king on with
as much deference as was possible until we stood at the door of
mademoiselle's apartment, which I have elsewhere stated to consist of
an outer and inner room. The door was opened by Simon Fleix, and him
I promptly sent out. Then, standing aside and uncovering, I begged the
king to enter.

He did so, still wearing his hat and mask, and I followed and secured
the door. A lamp hanging from the ceiling diffused an imperfect light
through the room, which was smaller but more comfortable in appearance
than that which I rented overhead. I observed that Fanchette, whose
harsh countenance looked more forbidding than usual, occupied a stool
which she had set in a strange fashion against the Inner door; but I
thought no more of this at the moment, my attention passing quickly to
mademoiselle, who sat crouching before the fire, enveloped in a large
outdoor cloak, as if she felt the cold. Her back was towards us, and she
was, or pretended to be, still ignorant of our presence. With a muttered
word I pointed her out to the king, and went towards her with him.

'Mademoiselle, I said in a low voice, 'Mademoiselle de la Vire! I have
the honour--'

She would not turn, and I stopped. Clearly she heard, but she betrayed
that she did so only by drawing her cloak more closely round her. Primed
by my respect for the king, I touched her lightly on the shoulder.
'Mademoiselle!' I said impatiently, 'you are not aware of it, but--'

She shook herself free from my hand with so rude a gesture that I broke
off, and stood gazing foolishly at her. The king smiled, and nodding
to me to step back a pace, took the task on himself. 'Mademoiselle,' he
said with dignity, 'I am not accustomed--'

His voice had a magical effect. Before he could add another word she
sprang up as if she had been struck, and faced us, a cry of alarm on her
lips. Simultaneously we both cried out too, for it was not mademoiselle
at all. The woman who confronted us, her hand on her mask, her eyes
glittering through the slits, was of a taller and fuller figure.