upon him."
Madame began to laugh in a manner that produced a mournful impression upon De Guiche.
"I repeat, madame, I do not believe the king is in love with Mademoiselle de la Valliere; and the proof that I do not believe it is, that I was about to ask you whose amour propre it is likely the king is, in this circumstance, desirous of wounding? You who are well acquainted with the whole court, can perhaps assist me in ascertaining that; and assuredly, with greater reason too, since it is everywhere said that your royal highness is on very intimate terms with the king."
Madame bit her lips, and, unable to assign any good and sufficient reasons, changed the conversation. "Prove to me," she said, fixing on him one of those looks in which the whole soul seems to pass into the eyes, "prove to me, I say, that you intended to interrogate me at the very moment I sent for you."
De Guiche gravely drew from his tablets what he had written, and showed it to her.
"Sympathy," she said.
"Yes," said the comte, with an indescribable tenderness of tone, "sympathy. I have explained to you how and why I sought you; you, however, have yet to tell me, madame, why you sent for me."
"True," replied the princess. She hesitated, and then suddenly exclaimed, "Those bracelets will drive me mad!"
"You expected the king would offer them to you," replied De Guiche.
"Why not?"
"But before you, madame, before you, his sister-in-law, was there not the queen herself, to whom the king should have offered them?"
"Before La Valliere," cried the princess, wounded to the quick, "could he not have presented them to me? Was there not the whole court, indeed, to choose from?"
"I assure you, madame," said the comte, respectfully, "that if any one heard you speak in this manner, if any one were to see how red your eyes are, and, Heaven forgive me, to see, too, that earth trembling on your eyelids, it would be said that your royal highness was jealous."
"Jealous!" said the princess, haughtily; "jealous of La Valliere!"
She expected to see De Guiche yield beneath her haughty gesture and her proud tone; but he simply and boldly replied, "Jealous of La Valliere; yes, madame."
"Am I to suppose, monsieur," she stammered out, "that your object is to insult me?"
"It is not possible, madame," replied the comte, slightly agitated, but resolved to master that fiery nature.
"Leave the room," said the princess, thoroughly exasperated; De Guiche's coolness and silent respect having made her completely lose her temper.
De Guiche fell back a step, bowed slowly, but with great respect, drew himself up, looking as white as his lace cuffs, and in a voice slightly trembling, said, "It was hardly worth while to have hurried here to be subjected to this unmerited disgrace." And he turned away with hasty steps.
He had scarcely gone half a dozen paces when Madame darted like a tigress after him, seized him by the cuff, and, making him turn round again, said, trembling with passion as she did so, "The respect that you pretend to have is more insulting than insult itself. Insult me, if you please, but at least speak."
"And do you, madame," said the comte, gently, as he drew his sword, "thrust this sword into my heart, rather than kill me by slow degrees."
At the look he fixed upon her—a look full of love, resolution, and despair even—she knew how readily the comte, so outwardly calm in appearance, would pass his sword through his own breast if she added another word. She tore the blade from his hands, and pressing his arm with a feverish impatience, which might pass for tenderness, said—
"Do not be too hard with me, comte. You see how I am suffering, and you have no pity for me."
Tears, which were the last crisis of the attack, stifled her voice. As soon as De Guiche saw her weep, he took her in his arms and carried her to an armchair; in another moment she would have been suffocated from suppressed passion.
"Oh, why," he murmured, as he knelt by her side, "why do you conceal your troubles from me? Do you love any one—tell me? It would kill me, I know, but not until after I should have comforted, consoled, and served you even."
"And do you love me to that extent?" she replied, completely conquered.
"I do indeed love you to that extent, madame."
She placed both her hands in his. "My heart is indeed another's," she murmured in so low a tone that her voice could hardly be heard; but he heard it, and said, "Is it the king you love?"
She gently shook her head, and her smile was like a clear bright streak in the clouds, through which, after the tempest had passed away, one almost fancies Paradise is opening. "But," she added, "there are other passions stirring in a high-born heart. Love is poetry; but the life of the heart is pride. Comte, I was born upon a throne, I am proud and jealous of my rank. Why does the king gather such unworthy objects round him?"
"Once more, I repeat," said the comte, "you are acting unjustly toward that poor girl, who will one day be my friend's wife."
"Are you simple enough to believe that, comte?"
"If I did not believe it," he said, turning very pale, "Bragelonne should be informed of it to-morrow; indeed he should, if I thought that poor La Valliere had forgotten the vows she had exchanged with Raoul. But no, it would be cowardly to betray any woman's secret; it would be criminal to disturb a friend's peace of mind."
"You think, then," said the princess, with a wild burst of laughter, "that ignorance is happiness?"
"I believe it," he replied.
"Prove it to me, then," she said hurriedly.
"It is easily done, madame. It is reported through the whole court that the king loves you, and that you return his affection."
"Well?" she said, breathing with difficulty.
"Well; admit for a moment that Raoul, my friend, had come and said to me, 'Yes, the king loves Madame, and has made an impression upon her heart,' I possibly should have slain Raoul."
"It would have been necessary," said the princess, with the obstinacy of a woman who feels herself not easily overcome, "for M. de Bragelonne to have had proofs, before he could venture to speak to you in that manner."
"Such, however, is the case," replied De Guiche, with a deep sigh, "that not having been warned, I have never examined the matter seriously; and I now find that my ignorance has saved my life."
"So, then, you would drive your selfishness and coldness to that extent," said Madame, "that you would let this unhappy young man continue to love La Valliere?"
"I would, until La Valliere's guilt were revealed."
"But the bracelets?"
"Well, madame, since you yourself expected to receive them from the king, what could I possibly have said?"
The argument was a telling one, and the princess was overwhelmed by it, and from that moment her defeat was
