The Count de Morseiul had just time to take possession of his new abode, and make himself tolerably at his ease therein, before the hour arrived for proceeding to the house of the Bishop of Meaux, where he was received by the prelate with every sort of kindness.

He arrived before any body else, and Bossuet took him by the hand, saying, with a smile, "Some of our good clergy, Monsieur de Morseiul, would perhaps be scandalized at receiving in their house so distinguished a Protestant as yourself; but I trust you know, what I have always endeavoured to prove, that I look upon all denominations of Christians as my brethren, and am only perhaps sometimes a little eager with them, out of what very likely you consider an over-anxiety, to induce them to embrace those doctrines which I think necessary to their salvation. Should it ever be so between you and me, Monsieur le Comte, will you forgive me.

"Willingly," replied the Count, thinking that the work of conversion was about to begin; but, to his surprise, Bossuet immediately changed the conversation, and turned it to the subject of the little party he had invited to meet the Count.

"I have not," he said, "made it, as indeed I usually do, almost entirely of churchmen; for I feared you might think that I intended to overwhelm you under ecclesiastical authority: however, we have some belonging to the church, whom you will be glad to meet, if you do not know them already. The AbbÉ Renaudot will be here, who has a peculiar faculty for acquiring languages, such as I never knew in any one but himself. He understands no less than seventeen foreign languages, and twelve of those he speaks with the greatest facility. That, however, is one of his least qualities, as you may yourself judge when I tell you, that in this age, where interest and ambition swallow up every thing, he is the most disinterested man that perhaps ever lived. Possessed of one very small, poor benefice which gives him a scanty subsistence, he has constantly refused every other preferment; and no persuasion will induce him to do what he terms, 'encumber himself with wealth.' We shall also have La Broue, with whose virtues and good qualities you are already acquainted. D'Herbelot also wrote yesterday to invite himself. He has just returned from Italy, where that reverence was shown to him, which generous and expansive minds are always ready to display towards men of genius and of learning. He was received by the Grand Duke at Florence, and treated like a sovereign prince, though merely a poor French scholar. A house was prepared for him, the Secretary of State met him, and, as a parting present, a valuable library of oriental manuscripts was bestowed upon him by the Duke himself. To these grave people we have joined our lively friend Pelisson, and one whom doubtless you know, Boileau DesprÉaux. One cannot help loving him, and being amused with him, although we are forced to acknowledge that his sarcasm and his bitterness go a good deal too far. When he was a youth, they tell me, he was the best tempered boy in the world, and his father used to say of him, that all his other children had some sharpness and some talent, but that as for Nicholas, he was a good-natured lad, who would never speak ill of any one. One thing, however, I must tell you to his honour. He obtained some time ago, as I lament to say has frequently been done, a benefice in the church without being an ecclesiastic. The revenues of the benefice he spent, in those his young days, in lightness, if not in vice. He has since changed his conduct and his views, and not long ago, not only resigned the benefice, but paid back from his own purse all that he had received, to be spent in acts of charity amongst the deserving of the neighbourhood. This merits particular notice and record."

Bossuet was going on to mention several others who were likely to join their party, when two of those whom he had named arrived, and the others shortly after made their appearance. The evening passed, as such an evening may well be supposed to have passed, at the dwelling of the famous Bishop of Meaux. It was cheerful, though not gay; and subjects of deep and important interest were mingled with, and enlivened by many a light and lively sally, confined within the bounds of strict propriety, but none the less brilliant or amusing, for it is only weak and narrow intellects that are forced to fly to themes painful, injurious, or offensive, in order to seek materials with which to found a reputation for wit or talent.

The only matter, however, which was mentioned affecting at all the course of our present tale, and therefore the only one on which we shall pause, was discussed between Pelisson and the AbbÉ Renaudot, while the Count de Morseiul was standing close by them, speaking for a moment with D'Herbelot.

"Is there any news stirring at the court, Monsieur Pelisson?" said Renaudot. "You hear every thing, and I hear nothing of what is going on there."

"Why there is nothing of any consequence, I believe," said Pelisson, in a loud voice. "The only thing now I hear of is, that Mademoiselle Marly is going to be married at length."

"What, La belle ClÉmence!" cried Renaudot "Who is the man that has touched her hard heart at length?"

"Oh, an old lover," said Pelisson. "Perseverance has carried the day. The Chevalier d'Evran is the man. The King gave his consent some few days ago, the Chevalier having come up express from Poitou to ask it."

Every word reached the ear of the Count de Morseiul, and his mind reverted instantly to the conduct of the Chevalier and ClÉmence, and to the letter which he had received from her. As any man in love would do, under such circumstances, he resolved not to believe a word; but as most men in love would feel, he certainly felt himself not a little uneasy, not a little agitated, not a little pained even by the report. Unwilling, however, to hear any more, he walked to the other end of the room to take his leave, as it was now late.

Pelisson looked after him as he went, and seeing him bid Bossuet adieu, he followed his example, and accompanied the young Count down the stairs and throughout the few steps he had to take ere he reached his own dwelling. No word, however, was spoken by either regarding ClÉmence de Marly, and Albert of Morseiul retired at once, though certainly not to sleep. He revolved in his mind again and again the probability of Pelisson's story having any truth in it. He knew ClÉmence, and he knew the Chevalier, and he felt sure that he could trust them both; but that trust was all that he had to oppose to the very great likelihood which there existed, that the King, as he so frequently did, would take the arrangement of a marriage for ClÉmence de Marly into his own hands, without in the slightest degree consulting her inclination, or the inclination of any one concerned.

The prospect now presented to the mind of Albert of Morseiul was in the highest degree painful. Fresh difficulties, fresh dangers, were added to the many which were already likely to overwhelm him, if even, as he trusted she would, ClÉmence held firm by her plighted troth to him, and resisted what was then so hard to resist in France, the absolute will of the King. Still this new incident would only serve to show that instant flight was more absolutely necessary than before, would render any return to France utterly impossible, and would increase the danger and difficulty of executing that flight itself. But a question suggested itself to the Count's mind, which, though he answered it in the affirmative, left anxiety and doubt behind it. Would ClÉmence de Marly resist the will of the King? Could she do so? So many were the means to be employed to lead or drive her to obedience, so much might be done by leading her on from step to step, that bitter, very bitter anxiety took possession of her lover's heart. He persuaded himself that it was pain and anxiety on her account alone; but still he loved her too well, too truly, not to feel pained and anxious for himself.

On the following morning, as soon as he had breakfasted, he wrote a brief note to ClÉmence, telling her that he was at Versailles, was most anxious to see her and converse with her, if it were but for a few minutes, and beseeching her to let him know immediately where he could do so speedily, as he had matters of very great importance to communicate to her at once. The letter was tender and affectionate; but still there was that in it, which might show the keen eyes of love that there was some great doubt and uneasiness pressing on the mind of the writer.

As soon as the letter was written, he gave it into the hands of Jerome Riquet, directing him to carry it to Paris, to wait there for the arrival of the family of de RouvrÉ, if they had not yet come, and to find means to give it to Maria, the attendant of Mademoiselle de Marly. He was too well aware of Riquet's talents not to be quite sure that this commission would be executed in the best manner; and after his departure he strove to keep his mind as quiet as possible, and occupied himself in writing to his intendant at Morseiul, conveying orders for his principal attendants to come up to join him at Versailles directly, bringing with them a great variety of different things which were needful to him, but which had been left behind in the hurry of his departure. While he was writing, he was again visited by the Prince de Marsillac, who came in kindly to tell him that the report of Pelisson, who had passed the preceding evening with him, seemed to be operating highly in his favour at court.

"I am delighted," he said, "that the good AbbÉ has had the first word, for St. Helie is expected to-night, and, depend upon it, his story would be very different. It will not be listened to now, however," he continued; "and every day gained, depend upon it, is something. Take care, however, Count," he said, pointing to the papers on the table, "take care of your correspondence; for though the King himself is above espionage, Louvois is not, I can tell you, and unless you send your letters by private couriers of your own, which might excite great suspicion, every word is sure to be known."

"I was going to send this letter by a private courier," said the Count; "but as it is only intended to order up the rest of my train from Poitou, and some matters of that kind, I care not if it be known to-morrow."

"If it be to order up your train," replied the Prince, "send it through Louvois himself. Write him a note instantly, saying, that as you understand he has a courier going, you will be glad if he will despatch that letter. It will be opened, read, and the most convincing proof afforded to the whole of them, that you have no intention of immediate flight, which is the principal thing they seem to apprehend. With this, clenching the report of Pelisson, you may set St. Helie at defiance, I should think."

The Count smiled. "Heaven deliver me from the intrigues of a court," he said. He did, however, as he was advised; and the Prince de Marsillac carried off the letter and the note, promising to have them delivered to Louvois immediately.

Several hours then passed anxiously, and although he knew that he could not receive an answer till two or three o'clock, and might perhaps not receive one at all that day, he could not help thinking the time long, and, marking the striking of the palace clock, as if it must have gone wrong for his express torment. The shortest possible space of time, however, in which it was possible to go and come between Versailles and Paris had scarcely expired after the departure of Riquet, when the valet again appeared. He brought with him a scrap of paper, which proved to be the back of the Count's own note to ClÉmence, unsealed, and with no address upon it; but written in a hasty hand within was found--

"I cannot--I dare not, see you at present, nor can I now write as I should desire to do. If what you wish to say is of immediate importance, write as before, and it is sure to reach me."

There was no signature, but the hand was that of ClÉmence de Marly; and the heart of Albert of Morseiul felt as if it would have broken. It seemed as if the last tie between him and happiness was severed. It seemed as if that hope, which would have afforded him strength, and support, and energy, to combat every difficulty and overleap every obstacle, was taken away from him; and for five or ten minutes he paced up and down the saloon in agony of mind unutterable.

"She is yielding already," he said at length, "she is yielding already. The King's commands are hardly announced to her, ere she feels that she must give way. It is strange--it is most strange! I could have staked my life that with her it would have been otherwise!--and yet the influence which this Chevalier d'Evran seems always to have possessed over her is equally strange. If, as she has so solemnly told me, she is not really bound to him by any tie of affection, may she not be bound by some promise rashly given in former years? We have heard of such things. However, no promises to me shall stand in the way; she shall act freely, and at her own will, as far as I am concerned;" and, sitting down, he wrote a few brief lines to ClÉmence, in which, though he did not pour out the bitterness of his heart, he showed how bitterly he was grieved.

"The tidings I had to tell you," he said, "were simply these, which I heard last night. The King destines your hand for another, and has already announced that such is the case. The few words that you have written show me that you are already aware of this fact, and that perhaps struggling between promises to me and an inclination to obey the royal authority, you are pained, and uncertain how to act. Such, at least, is the belief to which I am led by the few cold painful words which I have received. If that belief is right, it may make you more easy to know that, in such a case, Albert of Morseiul will never exact the fulfilment of a promise that ClÉmence de Marly is inclined to break."

He folded the note up, sealed it, and once more called for Riquet. Before the man appeared, however, some degree of hesitation had come over the heart of the Count, and he asked him,--

"Who did you see at the HÔtel de RouvrÉ?"

"I saw," replied the man, "some of the servants; and I saw two or three ecclesiastics looking after their valises in the court; and I saw Madame de RouvrÉ looking out of one of the windows with Mademoiselle ClÉmence, and the Chevalier d'Evran."

"It is enough," said the Count. "I should wish this note taken back to Paris before nightfall, and given into the hands of the same person to whom you gave the other. Take some rest, Riquet. But I should like that to be delivered before nightfall."

"I will deliver it, sir, and be back in time to dress you for the Appartement."

"The appartement," said the Count, "I had forgotten that, and most likely shall not go. Well," he added after a moment's thought, "better go there than to the Bastille. But it matters not, Riquet, Jean can dress me."

The man bowed and retired. But by the time that it was necessary for the Count to commence dressing for the appartement, Riquet had returned, bringing with him, however, no answer to the note, for which, indeed, he had not waited. The Count suffered him to arrange his dress as he thought fit, and then proceeded to the palace, which was by this time beginning to be thronged with company.

During one half of the life of Louis XIV. he was accustomed to throw open all the splendid public rooms of his palace three times in the week to all the chief nobility of his court and capital, and every thing that liberal, and even ostentatious, splendour could do to please the eye, delight the ear, or amuse the mind of those who were thus collected, was done by the monarch on the nights which were marked for what was called appartement. At an after period of his life, when the death of almost all his great ministers had cast the burden of all the affairs of state upon the King himself, he seldom, if ever, appeared at these assemblies, passing the hours, during which he furnished his court with amusement, in labouring diligently with one or other of his different ministers.

At the time we speak of, however, he almost every night showed himself in the appartement for some time, noticing every body with affability and kindness, and remarking, it was said, accurately who was present and who was not. It was considered a compliment to the monarch never to neglect any reasonable opportunity of paying court at these assemblies; and it is very certain that had the Count de Morseiul failed in presenting himself on the present occasion, his absence would have been regarded as a decided proof of disaffection.

He found the halls below, then, filled with guards and attendants; the staircase covered with officers, and guests arriving in immense crowds; while from the first room above poured forth the sound of a full orchestra, which was always the first attraction met with during the evening, as if to put the guests in harmony, and prepare their minds for pleasure and enjoyment. The music was of the finest kind that could be found in France, and no person ever rendered himself celebrated, even in any remote province, for peculiar skill or taste in playing on any instrument, without being sought out and brought to play at the concerts of the King. The concert room, which was the only one where the light was kept subdued, opened into a long suite of apartments, hall beyond hall, saloon beyond saloon, where the eye was dazzled by the blaze, and fatigued by the immense variety of beautiful and precious ornaments which were seen stretching away in brilliant perspective. Here tables were laid out for every sort of game that was then in fashion, from billiards to lansquenet; and the King took especial pains to make it particularly known to every person at his court, that it was not only his wish, but his especial command, if any man found any thing wanting, or required any thing whatever for his amusement or pleasure in the apartments, that he was to order some of the attendants to bring it.

Perfect liberty reigned throughout the whole saloons, as far as was consistent with propriety of conduct. The courtiers made up their parties amongst themselves, chose their own amusements, followed their own pursuits. Every sort of refreshment was provided in abundance, and hundreds on hundreds of servants, in splendid dresses, were seen moving here and there throughout the rooms, supplying the wants, and fulfilling the wishes of all the guests, with the utmost promptitude, or waiting for their orders, and remarking, with anxious attention, that nothing was wanting to the convenience of any one.

The whole of the principal suite of rooms in the palace was thus thrown open, as we have said, three times in the week, with the exception of the great ball room, which was only opened on particular occasions. Sometimes, at the balls of the court, the appartement was not held, and the meeting took place in the ball-room itself. But at other times the ball followed the supper of the King, which took place invariably at ten o'clock, and the company invited proceeded from the appartement to the ball-room, leaving those whose age, health, or habits, gave them the privilege of not dancing, to amuse themselves with the games which were provided on the ordinary nights.

Such was to be the case on the present evening, and such as we have described was the scene of splendour which opened upon the eyes of the Count de Morseiul as he entered the concert-room, and taking a seat at the end, gazed up the gallery, listening with pleasure to a calm and somewhat melancholy, but soothing strain of music. His mind, indeed, was too much occupied with painful feelings of many kinds for him to take any pleasure or great interest in the magnificence spread out before his eyes, which he had indeed often seen before, but which he might have seen again with some admiration, had his bosom been free and his heart at rest.

At present, however, it was but dull pageantry to him, and the music was the thing that pleased him most; but when a gay and lively piece succeeded to that which he had first heard, he rose and walked on into the rooms beyond, striving to find amusement for his thoughts, though pleasure might not be there to be found. Although he was by no means a general frequenter of the Court, and always escaped from it to the calmer pleasures of the country as soon as possible, he was, of course, known to almost all the principal nobility of the realm, and to all the officers who had in any degree distinguished themselves in the service. Thus, in the very first room, he was stopped by a number of acquaintances; and, passing on amidst the buzz of many voices, and all the gay nothings of such a scene, he met from time to time with some one, whose talents, or whose virtues, or whose greater degree of intimacy with himself, enabled him to pause and enter into longer and more interesting conversation, either in reference to the present--its hopes and fears,--or to the period when last they met, and the events that then surrounded them.

Although such things could not, of course, cure his mind of its melancholy, it afforded him some degree of occupation for his thoughts, till a sudden whisper ran through the rooms of "The King! The King!" and every body drew back from the centre of the apartments to allow the monarch to pass.

Louis advanced from the inner rooms with that air of stately dignity, which we know, from the accounts both of his friends and enemies, to have been unrivalled in grace and majesty. His commanding person, his handsome features, his kingly carriage, and his slow and measured step, all bespoke at once the monarch, and afforded no bad indication of his character, with its many grand and extensive, if not noble qualities, its capaciousness, its ambition, and even its occasional littleness, for the somewhat theatrical demeanour was never lost, and the stage effect was not less in Louis's mind than in his person.

He paused to speak for a moment with several persons as he passed, stood at the lansquenet table where his brother and his son were seated, dropped an occasional word, always graceful and agreeable, at two or three of the other tables, and then paused for a moment and looked up and down the rooms, evidently feeling himself, what his whole people believed him to be, the greatest monarch that ever trod the earth. There was something, indeed, it must be acknowledged, in the mighty splendour of the scene around--in the inestimable amount of the earth's treasures there collected--in the blaze of light, the distant sound of the music, the dazzling loveliness of many there present--the courage, the learning, the talent, the genius collected in those halls; and in the knowledge that there was scarcely a man present who would not shed the last drop of his heart's blood in the defence of his King, there was something that might well turn giddy the brain of any man who felt himself placed on that awful pinnacle of power and greatness. Louis, however, was well accustomed to it, and, like the child and the lion, he had become familiar from youth with things which might make other men tremble. Thus he paused but for a moment to remark and to enjoy, and then advanced again through the apartments.

The next person that his eye fell upon was the Count de Morseiul; and his countenance showed in a moment how true had been the prophecy of the Prince de Marsillac, that a great change would take place in his feelings. He now smiled graciously upon the young Count, and paused to speak with him.

"I trust to see you often here, Monsieur de Morseiul," he said.

"I shall not fail, Sire," the Count replied, "to pay my duty to your majesty as often as I am permitted to do so."

"Then you do not return soon to Poitou, Monsieur le Comte?" said the King.

"I have thought it so improbable that I should do so, Sire," replied the Count, who evidently saw that Louvois had not failed to report his letter, "that I have taken a hotel here, and have sent for my attendants this day. If I hoped that my presence in Poitou could be of any service to your majesty----"

"It may be, it may be, Count, in time to come," replied the King. "In the mean time we will try to amuse you well here. I have heard that you are one of the best billiard-players in France. Follow me now to the billiard room, and, though I am out of practice, I will try a stroke or two with you."

It was a game in which Louis excelled, as, indeed, he did in all games; and this was one which afterwards, we are told, made the fortune of the famous minister, Chamillart. The Count de Morseiul, therefore, received this invitation as a proof that he was very nearly re-established in the King's good graces. He feared not at all to compete with the monarch, as he himself was also out of practice, and, indeed, far more than the King; so that, though an excellent player, there was no chance of his being driven either to win the game against the monarch, or to make use of some manoeuvre to avoid doing so. He followed the King then willingly; but Louis, passing through the billiard-room, went on in the first place to the end of the suite of apartments, noticing every body to whom he wished to pay particular attention, and then returned to the game. A number of persons crowded round--so closely indeed, that the monarch exclaimed,--

"Let us have room--let us have room! We will have none but the ladies so close to us: Ha, Monsieur de Morseiul?"

The game then commenced, and went on with infinite skill and very nearly equal success on both parts. Louis became somewhat eager, but yet a suspicion crossed his mind that the young Count was purposely giving him the advantage, and at the end of some very good strokes he purposely placed his balls in an unfavourable position. The Count did not fail to take instant advantage of the opportunity, and had well nigh won the game. By an unfortunate stroke, however, he lost his advantage, and the King never let him have the table again till he was himself secure.

"You see, Monsieur de Morseiul," he said, as he paused for a moment afterwards, "you see you cannot beat me."

"I never even hoped it, Sire," replied the Count. "In my own short day I have seen so many kings, generals, and statesmen try to do so with signal want of success, that I never entertained so presumptuous an expectation."

The monarch smiled graciously, well pleased at a compliment from the young Huguenot nobleman which he had not expected; and as the game was one in which he took great pleasure, and which also displayed the graces of his person to the greatest advantage, he played a second game with the Count, which he won by only one stroke. He then left the table, and after speaking once more with several persons in the apartments, retired, not to re-appear till after his supper.

As soon as he was gone, the Prince de Marsillac once more approached the young Count, saying in a whisper,--"You have not beaten the King, Morseiul, but you have conquered him: yet, take my advice, on no account leave the apartments till after the ball has begun. Let Louis see you there, for you know what a marking eye he has for every one who is in the rooms."

Thus saying, he passed on, and the Count determined to follow his advice, though the hour and a half that was yet to elapse seemed tedious if not interminable to him. About a quarter of an hour before the supper of the King, however, as he sat listlessly leaning against one of the columns, he saw a party coming up from the concert room at a rapid pace, and long before the eye could distinctly see of what persons it was composed, his heart told him that ClÉmence de Marly was there.

She came forward, leaning on the arm of the Duc de RouvrÉ, dressed with the utmost splendour, and followed by a party of several others who had just arrived. She was certainly not less lovely than ever. To the eyes of Albert de Morseiul, indeed, it seemed that she was more so: but there was an expression of deep sadness on that formerly gay and smiling countenance, which would have made the whole feelings of the Count de Morseiul change into grief for her grief, and anxiety for her anxiety, had there not been a certain degree of haughtiness, throned upon her brow and curling her lips, which bespoke more bitterness than depression of feeling. The Duc de RouvrÉ was, as I have said, proceeding rapidly through the rooms, and paused not to speak with any one. The eyes of ClÉmence, however, fell full upon the Count de Morseiul, and rested on him with their full melancholy light, while she noticed him with a calm and graceful inclination of the head, but passed on without a word.

The feelings of the Count de Morseiul were bitter indeed, as may well be imagined. "So soon," he said to himself, "so soon! By heaven I can understand now all that I have heard and wondered at: how, for a woman--an empty, vain, coquettish woman--a man may forget the regard of years, and cut his friend's throat as he would that of a stag or boar. Where is the Chevalier d'Evran I wonder? He does not appear in the train to-night; but perhaps he comes not till the ball. I will wait, however, the same time as if she had not been here."

He moved not from his place, but remained leaning against the column; and, as is generally the case, not seeking, he was sought for. A number of people who knew him gathered round him; and, although he was in any thing but a mood for entertaining or being entertained, the very shortness of his replies, and the degree of melancholy bitterness that mingled with them, caused words that he never intended to be witty, to pass for wit, and protracted the torture of conversing with indifferent people upon indifferent subjects, when the heart is full of bitterness, and the mind occupied with its own sad business.

At length the doors of the ball room were thrown open, and the company poured in to arrange themselves before the monarch came. Several parties, indeed, remained playing at different games at the tables in the gallery, and the Count remained where he was, still leaning against the column, which was at the distance of ten or twelve yards from the doors of the ball room. Not above five minutes had elapsed before the King and his immediate attendants appeared, coming from his private supper room to be present at the ball. His eye, as he passed, ran over the various tables, making a graceful motion with his hand for the players not to rise; and as he approached the folding doors, he remarked the Count, and beckoned to him to come up. The Count immediately started forward, and the King demanded,

"A gallant young man like you, do you not dance, Monsieur de Morseiul?"

Taken completely by surprise at this piece of condescension, the Count replied,

"Alas, Sire, I am not in spirits to dance; I should but cloud the gaiety of my fair partner, and she would wish herself any where else before the evening were over."

Louis smiled; and, so much accustomed as he was to attribute the sunshine and clouds upon his courtiers' brows to the effects of his favour or displeasure, he instantly put his own interpretation upon the words of the Count, and that interpretation raised the young nobleman much in the good graces of a monarch, who, though vain and despotic, was not naturally harsh and severe.

"If, Monsieur de Morseiul," he said, "some slight displeasure which the King expressed yesterday morning, have rendered our gay fellow-soldier of Maestricht and Valenciennes so sad, let his sadness pass away, for his conduct here has effaced unfavourable reports, and if he persevere to the end in the same course, he may count upon the very highest favour."

Almost every circumstance combines on earth to prevent monarchs hearing the truth, even from the most sincere. Time, place, and circumstance is almost always against them; and in the present instance, the Count de Morseiul knew well, that neither the spot nor the moment were at all suited to any thing like an explanation. He could but reply, therefore, that the lightest displeasure of the King was of course enough to make him sad, and end his answer by one of those compliments which derive at least half their value, like paper money, from the good will of the receiver.

"Come, come," said the King gaily; "shake off this melancholy, fellow-soldier. Come with me; and if I have rightly heard the secrets of certain hearts, I will find you a partner this night, who shall not wish herself any where else while dancing with the Count de Morseiul."

The Count gazed upon the King with utter astonishment; and Louis, enjoying his surprise, led the way quickly on into the ball room, the Count following, as he bade him, close by his side, and amongst his principal officers. As soon as they had entered the ball room, Louis paused for an instant, and every one rose. The King's eyes, as well as those of the Count de Morseiul, ran round the vast saloon seeking for some particular object To Albert of Morseiul that object was soon discovered, placed between the Duchess de RouvrÉ, and Anette de Marville, at the very farthest part of the room. Louis, however, who was in good spirits, and in a mood peculiarly condescending, walked round the whole circle, pausing to speak to almost every married lady there, and twice turning suddenly towards the Count, perhaps with the purpose of teazing him a little, but seemingly as if about to point out the lady to whom he had alluded. At length, however, he reached the spot where the Duchess de RouvrÉ and her party were placed; and after speaking for a moment to the Duchess, while the cheek of ClÉmence de Marly became deadly pale and then glowed again fiery red, he turned suddenly towards her, and said--

"Mademoiselle de Marly, or perhaps as I in gallantry ought to say, Belle ClÉmence, I have promised the Count de Morseiul here to find him a partner for this ball, who will dance with him throughout to-night, without wishing herself anywhere else. Now, as I have certain information that he is very hateful to you, there is but one thing which can make you execute the task to the full. Doubtless you, as well as all the rest of our court, feel nothing so great a pleasure as obeying the King's commands--at least, so they tell me--and therefore I command you to dance with him, and to be as happy as possible, and not to wish yourself any where else from this moment till the ball closes."

He waited for no reply, but making a sign to the Count to remain by the side of his fair partner, proceeded round the rest of the circle. Nothing in the demeanour of ClÉmence de Marly but her varying colour had told how much she was agitated while the King spoke; but the words which the monarch had used were so pointed, and touched so directly upon the feelings between herself and Albert of Morseiul, that those who stood around pressed slightly forward as soon as Louis had gone on, to see how she was affected by what had passed. To her ear those words were most strange and extraordinary. It was evident that by some one the secret of her heart had been betrayed to the King, and equally evident that Louis had determined to countenance that love which she had fancied would make her happy in poverty, danger, or distress, announcing his approbation at the very moment that a temporary coldness had arisen between her and her lover, and that her heart was oppressed with those feelings of hopelessness, which will sometimes cross even our brightest and happiest days.

On the Count de Morseiul the King's words had produced a different, but not a less powerful effect. The surprise and joy which he might have felt at finding himself suddenly pointed out by the monarch as the favoured suitor for the hand of her he loved, was well nigh done away by the conviction that the price the King put upon his ultimate approbation of their union was such as he could not pay. But nevertheless those words were most joyful, though they raised up some feeling of self-reproach in his heart. It was evident that the tale told by Pelisson regarding the Chevalier was false, or perhaps, indeed, originated in some pious fraud devised for the purpose of driving him more speedily to acknowledge himself a convert to the church of Rome. Whatever were the circumstances, however, it was clear that ClÉmence was herself unconscious of any such report, and that all the probabilities which imagination had built up to torment him were but idle dreams. He had pained himself enough indeed; but he had pained ClÉmence also, and his first wish was to offer her any atonement in his power.

Such were the feelings and thoughts called up in the bosom of the young Count by the events which had just occurred. But the surprise of ClÉmence and her lover was far outdone by that of the Duke and Duchess de RouvrÉ, who, astonished at the favour into which their young friend seemed so suddenly to have risen, and equally astonished at the intimation given by the King of an attachment existing between the Count and ClÉmence, overflowed with joy and satisfaction as soon as the monarch left the spot, and expressed many a vain hope that, after all, the affairs which had commenced in darkness and shadow, would end in sunshine and light. Ere the Count could reply, or say one word to ClÉmence de Marly, the bransle began, and he led her forth to dance. There was but a moment for him to speak to her; but he did not lose that moment.

"ClÉmence," he said, as he led her forward, "I fear I have both pained you and wronged you."

A bright and beautiful smile spread at once over her countenance. "You have," she said; "but those words are enough, Albeit! Say no more! the pain is done away; the wrong is forgotten."

"It is not forgotten by me, sweet girl," he replied, in the same low tone; "but I must speak to you long, and explain all."

"Come to-morrow," she answered; "all difficulties must now be done away. I, too, have something to explain, Albert," she added, "but yet not every thing that I could wish to explain, and about that I will make you my only reproach. You promised not to doubt me--oh, keep that promise!"

As she spoke the dance began, and of course their conversation for the time concluded. All eyes were upon the young Count--so rare a visiter at the palace, and upon her--so admired, so courted, so disdainful, as she was believed to be by every one present, but whose destiny seemed now decided, and whose heart everyone naturally believed to be won. Graceful by nature as well as by education, no two persons of the whole court could have been better fitted than Albert of Morseiul and ClÉmence de Marly to pass through the ordeal of such a scene as a court ball in those days; and though every eye was, as we have said, upon them, yet they had a great advantage on that night, which would have prevented any thing like embarrassment, even had not such scenes been quite familiar to them. They scarcely knew that any eyes were watching them, they were scarcely conscious of the presence of the glittering crowd around. Engrossed by their own individual feelings--deep, absorbing, overpowering, as those feelings were,--their spirits were wrapt up in themselves and in each other; they thought not of the dance, they thought not of the spectators, but left habit, and natural grace, and a fine ear, to do all that was requisite as far as the minuet was concerned. If either thought of the dance at all, it was only when the eyes of Albert of Morseiul rested on ClÉmence, and he thought her certainly more lovely and graceful than ever she had before appeared, or when his hand touched hers, and the thrill of that touch passed to his heart, speaking of love and hope and happiness to come. The effect was what might naturally be supposed--each danced more gracefully than perhaps they had ever done before; and one of those slight murmurs of admiration passed through the courtly crowd, and was confirmed by a gracious smile and gentle inclination of the head from the King himself.

"We must not let him escape us," said the monarch in a low voice to the Prince de Marsillac. "Certainly he is worthy of some trouble in recalling from his errors."

"If he escape from the fair net your majesty has spread for him," replied the Prince, "he will be the most cunning bird that ever I saw. Indeed, I should suppose he has no choice, when, if caught, he will have to thank his King for every thing, for honour, favour, distinction, his soul's salvation, and a fair wife that loves him. If he be not pressed till he takes fright, he will entangle himself so that no power can extricate him."

"He shall have every opportunity," said the King. "I must not appear too much in the matter. You, Prince, see that they be left alone together, if possible, for a few minutes. Use what manoeuvre you will, and I will take care to countenance it."

At the court balls of that day it was the custom to dance throughout the night with one person, and the opportunity of conversing between those who were dancing was very small. A few brief words at the commencement, or at the end of each dance, was all that could be hoped for, and ClÉmence and her lover were fain to fix all their hopes of explanation and of longer intercourse upon the morrow. Suddenly, however, it was announced, before the hour at which the balls usually terminated, that the King had a lottery, to which all the married ladies of the court were invited.

The crowd poured into the apartment where the drawing of this lottery was to take place; every lady anxious for a ticket where all were prizes, and the tickets themselves given by the King; while those who were not to share in this splendid piece of generosity, were little less eager, desirous of seeing the prizes, and learning who it was that won them. All then, as we have said, poured out of the ball room, through the great gallery and other state-rooms in which the appartement was usually held.

There were only two who lingered--ClÉmence de Marly and Albert of Morseiul. They, however, remained to the last, and then followed slowly, employing the few minutes thus obtained in low spoken words of affection, perhaps all the warmer and all the tenderer for the coldness and the pain just passed. Ere three sentences, however, had been uttered, the good Duc de RouvrÉ approached, saying, "Come, ClÉmence, come quick, or you will not find a place where you will see."

The eye of the Prince de Marsillac, however, was upon them; and, threading the mazes of the crowd, he took the Duke by the arm; and, drawing him aside with an important face, told him that the King wanted to speak with him immediately. The Duc de RouvrÉ darted quickly away to seek the monarch: and the Prince paused for a single instant ere he followed, to say in a low voice to the Count,--

"You will neither of you be required at the lottery, if you think that the lot you have drawn already is sufficiently good."

The Count was not slow to understand the hint, and he gently led ClÉmence de Marly back into one of the vacant saloons.

"Surely they will think it strange," she said; but ere the Count could reply, she added quickly; "but, after all, what matters it if they do?--I would have it so, that every one may see and know the whole so clearly, that all persecution may be at an end. Now, Albert, now," she said, "tell me what could make you write me so cruel a letter."

"I will in one word," he replied; "but remember, ClÉmence, that I own I have been wrong, and in telling you the causes, in explaining the various circumstances which led me to believe that you were wavering in your engagements to me, I seek not to justify myself, but merely to explain."

"Oh never, never think it!" she exclaimed, ere she would let him go on; "whatever may happen, whatever appearances may be, never, Albert, never for one moment think that I am wavering! Once more, most solemnly, most truly, I assure you, that though perhaps fate may separate me from you, and circumstances over which we have no control render our union impossible, nothing--no, not the prospect of immediate death itself, shall ever induce me to give my hand to another. No circumstances can effect that, for that must be my voluntary act; and I can endure death, I can endure imprisonment, I can endure any thing they choose to inflict, except the wedding a man I do not love. Now, tell me," she continued, "now let me hear, what could make you think I did so waver."

The Count related all that had taken place, the words which he had heard Pelisson make use of in conversation with an indifferent person, the mortification and pain he had felt at the words she had written in answer to his note, the confirmation of all his anxious fears by what Jerome Riquet had told him, and all the other probabilities that had arisen to make him believe that those fears were just.

ClÉmence heard him sometimes with a look of pain, sometimes with a reproachful smile. "After all, Albert," she said, "perhaps you have had some cause--more cause indeed than jealous men often have, and yet you shall hear how simply all this may be accounted for. The day after we parted in Poitou, the AbbÉ de St. Helie arrived at Ruffigny, with several other persons of the same kind, and Monsieur de RouvrÉ found his house filled with spies upon his actions. He received, however, in the evening of the same day, an order to come to the court immediately, to give an account of the events which had taken place in his government. The same spies of Louvois accompanied us on the road, as well as the Chevalier d'Evran,--who was the person that had obtained from the King the order for the Duke to appear at court, rather than to remain in exile at Ruffigny, while his enemies said what they chose of him in his absence. We had not arrived in Paris ten minutes at the time your servant came. We were surrounded by spies of every kind; the good Duke was in a state of agitation impossible to describe, and so fearful that any thing like a Protestant should be seen in his house, or that any thing, in short, should occur to give probability to the charges against him, that I knew your coming would be dangerous both to yourself and to him, the house being filled with persons who were ready not only to report, but to pervert every thing that took place. On receiving your note, Maria called me out of the saloon; but my apartments were not prepared; servants were coming and going; no writing paper was to be procured; a pen and ink was obtained with difficulty. I knew if I were absent five minutes in the state of agitation, that pervaded the whole household, Madame de RouvrÉ would come to seek me, and I was consequently obliged to write the few words I did write in the greatest haste, and under the greatest anxiety. Maria was not even out of the room conveying those few words to your servant, when the Duchess came in, and I was glad hypocritically to affect great activity and neatness about the arrangement of my apartments, to conceal the real matter which had employed me. Such is the simple state of the case; and I never even heard of this other marriage, about which Pelisson must have made some mistake. Had I heard of it," she added, "it would only have made me laugh."

"I see not why it should do so," replied the Count. "Surely, Louis d'Evran is--as I well know he is considered by many of the fair and the bright about this court--a person not to be despised by any woman. He evidently, too, exercises great influence over you, ClÉmence; and therefore the report itself was not such as I, at least, could treat as absurd, especially when, in addition to these facts, it was stated that the King had expressed his will that you should give him your hand."

"To me, however, Albert," she replied, "it must appear absurd, knowing and feeling as I do know and feel, that were the Chevalier d'Evran the only man I had ever seen, or ever were likely to see, that I should never even dream of marrying him. He may be much loved and liked by other women; doubtless he is, and sure I am he well deserves it. I like him, too, Albert. I scruple not to own it--I like him much; but that is very different from loving him as I love--as a woman should love her husband I mean to say. And now, Albert," she continued, "with regard to the influence he has over me, I will tell you nothing more. That shall remain as a trial of your confidence in me. This influence will never be exerted but when it is right. Should it be exerted wrongly, it is at an end from that moment. When you wished to accompany me to Ruffigny, from that terrible scene in which we last parted, he represented to me in few words how Monsieur de RouvrÉ was situated. He showed me, that by bringing you there at such a time from such a scene, I should but bring destruction on that kind friend who had sheltered and protected my infancy and my youth, when I had none else to protect me. He showed me, too, that I should put an impassable barrier between you and me, for the time at least. He told me that no one but himself was aware of where I was, but that your accompanying me would instantly make it known to the whole world, and most likely produce the ruin of both. Now, tell me, Albert, was he not right to say all this? Was not his view a just one?"

"It was," replied the Count; "but yet he might have urged it in another manner. He might have explained the whole to me as well as to you: and still you leave unexplained, ClÉmence, how he should know where you were when you had concealed it so well, so unaccountably well, from the family at Ruffigny."

"Oh! jealousy, jealousy," said ClÉmence, playfully; "what a terrible and extraordinary thing jealousy is! and yet, Albert, perhaps a woman likes to see a little of it when she really loves. However, you are somewhat too hard upon the Chevalier, and you shall not wring from me any other secret just yet. You have wrung from me, Albert, too many of the secrets of my heart already, and I will not make you the spoilt child of love, by letting you have altogether your own way. As to my concealing from the family of Ruffigny, however, where I was going on that occasion, or on most others, it is very easily explained. Do you not know that till I was foolish enough at Poitiers to barter all the freedom of my heart, for love with but little confidence it would seem, I have always been a tyrant instead of a slave? Are you not aware that I have always done just as I liked with every one? and one of my reasons for exercising my power to the most extreme degree was, that my religious faith might never be controlled? Till this fierce persecution of the Protestants began, and till the King made it his great object, and announced his determination of putting down all but the Roman Catholic faith in the realm, Monsieur de RouvrÉ himself cared but little for the distinction of Protestant and Catholic, and even had he known what I was doing, though he might have objected, would not have strongly opposed me. I established my right, however, of doing what I liked, and going where I liked, and acting as I liked, on such firm grounds, that it was not easily shaken. Even now, had I chosen to see you to-day in Paris, I might have done it; but would you have thought the better of ClÉmence if she had risked the fortunes of him who has been more than a father to her? Nobody would, and nobody should have said me nay, if I had believed that it was just and right to bid you come. But I thought it was wrong, Albert. Now, however, I may bid you come in safety to all; and now that I have time and opportunity to make any arrangements I like, I may safely promise, that should any change come over the present aspect of our affairs, which change I fear must and will come, I will find means to see you at any time, and under any circumstances. But hark! from what I hear, the lottery is over, and the people departing. Let us go forward and join them, if it be but for a moment."

Thus saying, she rose, and the Count led her on to the room where the distribution of the prizes had just taken place. Every one was now interested with another subject. A full hour had been given at the beginning of the evening to the affair of the Count de Morseiul and Mademoiselle de Marly, which was a far greater space of time, and far more attention than such a court might be expected to give, even to matters of the deepest and most vital importance. But no former impression could of course outlive the effect of a lottery. There was not one man or woman present whose thoughts were filled with any thing else than the prizes and their distributions; and the head of even the good Duchess of RouvrÉ herself, who was certainly of somewhat higher character than most of those present, was so filled with the grand engrossing theme, that nothing was talked of, as the party returned to Paris, but the prize which had fallen to the share of Madame de This, or the disappointment which had been met with by Madame de That; so that ClÉmence de Marly could lean back in the dark corner of the carriage, and enjoy her silence undisturbed.