A FAIR SUITOR.

THE following evening at her Majesty's circle Lauzun approaches Mademoiselle. A smile is on his face, and his manner is less formal. Mademoiselle seats herself apart in a recess, and signs to him to place himself beside her. "Now, now, he will speak," she repeats to herself.

"Are you prepared, M. de Lauzun, to give me your opinion on my approaching marriage?" The tone of her voice is low and sweet; her hand falls near his; he draws a little back.

"Believe me, madame, each word you have uttered is graven on my heart. I have founded many chÂteaux d'Espagne on them."

Mademoiselle is enchanted. "This is the moment," thinks she. She grows hot and cold by turns, and with difficulty conceals her delight.

"Pray speak to me with frankness, Count. I want to discuss with you the most important event of my life—my marriage."

"I am deeply gratified at being appointed president of your council, madame." Lauzun's manner suddenly changes. He is all at once disagreeable, stiff, and supercilious. He settles his ruffles over his hands, and pulls at his moustache. "Allow me to say, however, that no one in the world could enter into this delicate matter with more profound respect for you than myself."

Mademoiselle is strangely baffled; spite of herself the conversation is drifting away, she knows not whither. She cannot decide if Lauzun is gratified or offended at her advances—a strange dilemma for a love-sick princess worth many millions!

"Pray, Count, let us resume our discussion of your own opinion on the matter in question. Do you advise me to marry?"

"Your merit, madame, is so great, I know no one worthy of you." He speaks with the utmost indifference. "Why resign your present brilliant position?" he adds.

"Is he mocking me?" she thinks, "or is he bashful?" As this doubt presents itself, Mademoiselle's heart sinks within her. "What can I say to make him understand me?" she murmurs. When she next speaks a slight asperity is apparent in her tone. She is not used to be trifled with; she cannot brook it even from Lauzun. She rises impatiently.

"I beg you will remember, Monsieur de Lauzun, that I consider no sacrifice too great to ensure me the husband I have described to you."

Lauzun feels that he may go too far; he instantly assumes a look of intense humility.

"Such a man as you describe, madame, ought to esteem himself supremely blest. He should love you more than life!" He speaks with enthusiasm. Mademoiselle thrills with rapture; her cheeks mantle with blushes. "At last the moment is come," she thinks. She reseats herself and turns, with breathless impatience, towards Lauzun, who meets her ardent gaze. Lauzun instantly checks himself; the cold look is again on his face.

"Where will you find such a man?" he says. "Will your highness permit me to search for one?"

"Monsieur de Lauzun, if you are in earnest you need not search long," she replies significantly. Could she then have caught his eye, all would have been told.

"Pray inform me on whom your choice has fallen, madame? We may both have fixed on the same person."

Had she dared she would have openly named himself, but he is suddenly grown so cold and distant, she is utterly discomfited. Lauzun crosses his arms on his breast and falls into a muse.

"Have you ever, madame, contemplated the advantages of being a nun?" he asks abruptly. "Devotion is often the refuge of single women."

Mademoiselle is aghast. Her hands drop helplessly to her side, her head sinks on her bosom.

"Good heavens!" she thinks, "what evil fortune pursues me? Will no man ever understand I love him?"

"Upon the whole, madame, I advise you to remain as you are." Lauzun's voice is harsh, his sallow face is flushed. He is conscious of the difficulty of his position, with an ardent princess beside him, whose passion must be irritated to the utmost in order to induce her to overleap all obstacles. "It is too soon to yield," he thinks.

"I have the honour to tell you, Monsieur de Lauzun, I have selected marriage," rejoins Mademoiselle haughtily. She is fast losing her temper. Lauzun instantly assumes a deeply penitent air.

"For myself," he says meekly, "my only pleasure is in the service of his Majesty. I am fit for nothing else." As he speaks his dejected look sends a pang to her heart. "If I leave his Majesty, it will be——" he stops, Mademoiselle listens breathlessly—"it will be to enter a monastery. Nothing but my attachment to my royal master restrains me."

"Blessed Virgin!" ejaculates Mademoiselle, clasping her hands. "Who could have believed it?"

"I shall never marry," continues Lauzun. He hangs down his head, apparently overcome with despondency.

"How?—Why?" demands Mademoiselle eagerly. "For what reason?"

"Marriage has often been proposed to me, your highness, but there are insurmountable difficulties."

"Name them, I entreat you," she cries imperiously.

"My wife, madame, must be a paragon of virtue, or I should murder her. I dread the morals of the Court. Not the wealth of the Indies would tempt me to marry and to doubt. I would not unite myself to a princess of the blood, under such conditions."

"Noble heart!" exclaims Mademoiselle aside. "You can very easily find the virtuous lady you seek," she adds aloud, in a voice tremulous with suppressed passion. She turns towards Lauzun, and for a moment touches his hand which lies close to her own. "My choice is made," she adds resolutely. "I shall announce it to his Majesty to-morrow."

"For heaven's sake, forbear!" exclaims Lauzun, with real earnestness, starting to his feet; "you make me tremble. You must say nothing. It concerns my honour, madame," and he smote upon his breast. Mademoiselle turns her glowing eyes upon him. "My honour as your adviser, madame, I mean," adds Lauzun, correcting himself and speaking in an altered tone. But all his self-command could not wholly conceal the triumph he felt at having so successfully acted his part. "As your adviser, madame, I forbid you to speak to the King. The time is not yet come. (I hold her," he says to himself, "she is mine!")

At this moment a page enters and desires him to join his Majesty, who is walking up and down in the quadrangle with some gentlemen. Mademoiselle is as much at a loss as ever to make Lauzun understand her. Just as a crisis approaches, they are always interrupted. She longs to ask him why she should not tell the King? Once or twice she tried to do so, but Lauzun invariably turned the conversation into such a channel as effectually silenced Mademoiselle, who spite of her pride was easily abashed.

At last she hits upon an expedient.

"I have the name of my intended written on this slip of paper, Monsieur de Lauzun," she says, and she offers him a sealed note at their next meeting.

Lauzun draws back, stares at her, and frowns. "I do not wish to take the note, madame. I feel that it forebodes me misfortune, my heart beats so violently." Still he stretches out his hand and takes the paper which she offers.

This takes place in the morning, at the Queen's lever. Maria Theresa is on her way to mass, accompanied by Mademoiselle, who is in a state of indescribable perturbation. She had seen Lauzun open the note, and read the paper, on which is written the magic words, "It is you."

This great princess, arrived at a mature age, and as proud as Lucifer, trembles like a leaf during mass, and requires all the restraints of etiquette to hide the tumult of her feelings. After mass the Queen goes to visit the Dauphin, who is ailing. Mademoiselle awaits her return in a gallery outside. Lauzun is there. He leans against the chimney-piece, lost in thought. A bright fire of logs is burning on the hearth. His countenance betrays nothing. He neither seeks nor avoids her. Mademoiselle rubs her hands, advances to the fire and shivers.

"I am paralysed with cold," she says, in a soft voice. She bends over the fire. Lauzun bows and retires some steps to make room for her.

"I am more paralysed than your highness," he says stiffly, looking round to see that no one is near. His face is inscrutable. "I have read the note you did me the honour to place in my hands. I am not, however, so foolish as to fall into such a snare; your highness is amusing yourself at my expense. You conceal the real name of your intended husband and substitute mine. You do this to mortify me. You are very cruel." He gives her a stealthy look. Mademoiselle staggers backward; she supports herself against a chair. She does not know whether to laugh or cry. Then feeling that the moment so longed for is come, she collects herself and speaks with dignity.

"I assure you, Monsieur de Lauzun, the name you have read on that paper, is the name of the man I mean to marry."

Lauzun shakes his head incredulously.

"Not only so, Monsieur de Lauzun, but I intend immediately informing the King of my intention, unless," adds she, in a tender voice, "you forbid me." She would have liked to have gathered into one glance all the love she felt for him. To have told him her passionate admiration for his person, her respect for his magnanimity in rejecting the splendid position she offered him. She would have liked to do this; but, in the face of such exalted independence, her womanly delicacy takes alarm. She can neither look at him nor utter a single word.

"Madame," says Lauzun at length, addressing her with the utmost solemnity, "you have ill recompensed the zeal I have shown for you. Henceforth, I can approach you no more. Great as is my respect for your highness, I cannot permit myself to be exposed to ridicule. You are, madame, making me the butt of the whole Court."

Mademoiselle starts violently, then she places her hand upon his arm. "Lauzun," she says, and her voice sinks into a tone of the humblest entreaty, "I beseech you to understand me. My resolution may seem hasty, but your great qualities excuse it. I have made up my mind. I shall ask his Majesty's permission to marry you."

At last she has spoken! The woman has overcome the princess. Lauzun stands before her with downcast eyes—a victim, as it seems, to his own perfection. The time was now come that he must coquet no more. Placing his hand on his heart, he made her a deep obeisance.

"But, madame, I am only a Gascon gentleman. None but a sovereign is a fit consort for your highness."

"I will make you a prince, Count," rejoins she, with a tender look. "I will create you Duc de Montpensier. I have wealth and dignities; both are yours."

Her eyes sparkle, her cheeks burn. An air of mingled power, pride, love, and exultation overspreads her face. Her tall figure is raised to its full height: she clasps the hand of Lauzun; he raises it to his lips.

"Your highness overwhelms me," he whispers, with genuine feeling. For an instant, Lauzun—the cold, heartless Lauzun—felt her influence. Could he really love this exalted lady, who had thus honoured him? He looks fixedly into her face, now transfigured by the deep passions that stirred her inmost soul. Could he love her? He, a penniless cadet, of an insignificant name? Etiquette set at defiance, a princess at his feet, enormous wealth, a royal dukedom in his grasp! Could he love her?—For a moment a rush of wild thoughts whirl through his brain. She worships him. He could make her life a long enchantment. He was about to kneel to her, to thank her, even to press her in his arms. But he stops and steadies himself. No—she is too old; wrinkles gather about her mouth, her fair hair is partly grey, the bloom has long faded from her cheeks, the fire of youth from her eye. What is she but an old maid, inflamed by a furious passion for a man greatly younger than herself? Should he, the brilliant Lauzun, burn incense on the altar of such an idol? Impossible. He would be the laughing-stock of the Court! His lively imagination grasps the whole situation in an instant. Lauzun's baser nature conquered. The momentary warmth fades out of his heart for ever. He heaves a sigh of relief.

"Monsieur de Lauzun," says Mademoiselle, far too much occupied with her own raptures to heed or to understand what was passing in his mind, "you sigh. Fear nothing; I will obtain his Majesty's permission for our speedy marriage."

Would Louis XIV. consent to the marriage of his cousin-german with a simple gentleman? Would Madame de Montespan, with whom Lauzun had intrigued, fall into this arrangement, or would she use her all-powerful influence against it? These are awful questions. Lauzun's blood ran cold when he thought of it. Madame de Montespan is treacherous, and as vindictive and clever as himself. Louvois, too, the minister, is his enemy.

Mademoiselle, however, ignorant of these dangers, acted without a moment's hesitation. She wrote a long letter to the King, announcing her choice, and asking for his consent. Lauzun saw and approved the letter. It was then confided to Bontemps, who carried it to his Majesty.

Louis did not vouchsafe an immediate answer. He sent word to his cousin that she had better reflect well upon what she was about to do. But the countenance of the royal Jupiter beamed upon his favourite Lauzun with undiminished warmth, and he was most affectionate to his cousin. Both naturally drew favourable augeries. Mademoiselle was now steeped in the sweets of an acknowledged passion. Lauzun condescended to be gracious, spite of some little eccentricities such as not always approaching her, or even replying to her when she addressed him—eccentricities attributed by her to his great modesty and discretion. Still, the King had not given his consent.

One evening his Majesty played late at ÉcartÉ, so late indeed that it was two o'clock, and he was still at the table. Mademoiselle sat nodding on a brocaded fauteuil beside the Queen. She was determined to see every one out, and to speak to her royal cousin.

She longed so much to salute her lover Duc de Montpensier; to behold him raised to the Olympian circle that surrounded the family god. She longed for many things; life had of late become a delightful mystery to her. Each day unfolded some link in that delicious chain that bound her for ever to her adored Lauzun!

At last the Queen rose. As she passed by she whispered to Mademoiselle—"You must have some very important business with the King to remain so late. I can sit up no longer."

"Madame," she replied, rising, "it is a matter of life and death to me. If I succeed it will be announced at the council to-morrow morning."

"Well, my cousin," said the poor Queen, who never understood anything that was going on, and was not intended to do so, "I wish you all success. Good night."

By-and-by Louis left off playing. He rose, and walked up to Mademoiselle. "What, cousin, you are still here? You did not accompany her Majesty? Do you know the time? It is two o'clock."

"Sire, I wish to speak a few words to you."

The King yawned, gave a glance towards the door, then leant wearily against the wall. "Excuse me for to-night, cousin," said he; "I am tired."

"I shall not be long," urged Mademoiselle; "but do be seated, or I feel I cannot address you properly."

"No, I am very well thus. Speak, my cousin. I am all attention."

This was an awful moment. Mademoiselle's heart thumped audibly against her side. Her throat became so parched no words would come.

"Sire," she began, and her voice failed her. The King watched her; he had seen a good deal of women by this time, and understood their ways. He knew she was about to speak to him of Lauzun, and smiled.

"Take time, my cousin," said he graciously; "you are agitated; take time."

"Sire," again began poor Mademoiselle—fortunately her voice now came to her, and she continued—"I want to tell you that the resolution I had the honour of submitting to your Majesty respecting the Comte de Lauzun is unshaken. I shall never be happy unless I am his wife."

"Yet, my cousin, you have hitherto been most severe on those princesses who have married beneath their rank—your step-sister, Madame de Guise, for example. Lauzun is certainly the most complete grand seigneur of my Court; but I still advise you to reflect well upon the step you are taking. I do not wish to constrain you."

Mademoiselle clasped her hands; her face beamed.

"I love and esteem you beyond measure, my cousin," added Louis, taking her hands in his. "I shall rejoice to have you always about my person. But be careful; Lauzun has many enemies. I do not forbid you; but remember, a sovereign is often forced to act against his will. This intended marriage is now little known; do not give time for all the world to discuss it. Let me warn you and Lauzun to be cautious; above all, lose no time, my cousin. Take my advice, lose no time."

"Oh, Sire!" exclaimed Mademoiselle in an ecstasy, "if you are with us, who can be against us?"

Louis embraced her, and they parted.

Any one less infatuated than Mademoiselle, less arrogant than Lauzun, would have understood the King's friendly caution, "to lose no time." But they were both too intoxicated with their different feelings to heed the advice of the really well-meaning Louis. Lauzun lost his head completely. He accepted, day after day, the magnificent presents sent him by Mademoiselle. He ordered fresh equipages, horses, jewels, and plate. He was created Duc de Montpensier. He shrank from the amorous ardour of the doting Princess, but he gloried in her munificence. Still unmarried, he revelled in it without a drawback! He was a mean, selfish fellow, Monsieur de Lauzun, like all men who marry heiresses they do not care for. The words of warning came again, and this time to his ear. "Marry while you can," was said to him. Mademoiselle, still enacting the masculine part, urged an early day, but she urged in vain.