She dressed herself with care in the morning, putting on her powder, her little touch of rouge, her one patch near the dimple of her cheek, her loose robe of violet velvet, and her casconet of pearls with all the solicitude of a warrior, who is bracing on his arms for a life and death contest.  No news had come to her of the great event of the previous night, although the court already rang with it, for her haughtiness and her bitter tongue had left her without a friend or intimate.  She rose, therefore, in the best of spirits, with her mind set on the one question as to how best she could gain an audience with the king.

She was still in her boudoir putting the last touches to her toilet when her page announced to her that the king was waiting in her salon.  Madame de Montespan could hardly believe in such good fortune.  She had racked her brain all morning as to how she should win her way to him, and here he was waiting for her.  With a last glance at the mirror, she hastened to meet him.

He was standing with his back turned, looking up at one of Snyders’s paintings, when she entered; but as she closed the door, he turned and took two steps towards her.  She had run forward with a pretty little cry of joy, her white arms outstretched, and love shining on her face; but he put out his hand, gently and yet with decision, with a gesture which checked her approach.  Her hands dropped to her side, her lip trembled, and she stood looking at him with her grief and her fears all speaking loudly from her eyes.  There was a look upon his features which she had never seen before, and already something was whispering at the back of her soul that to-day at least his spirit was stronger than her own.

“You are angry with me again,” she cried.

He had come with every intention of beginning the interview by telling her bluntly of his marriage; but now, as he looked upon her beauty and her love, he felt that it would have been less brutal to strike her down at his feet.  Let some one else tell her, then.  She would know soon enough.  Besides, there would be less chance then of a scene, which was a thing abhorrent to his soul.  His task was, in any case, quite difficult enough.  All this ran swiftly through his mind, and she as swiftly read it off in the brown eyes which gazed at her.

“You have something you came to say, and now you have not the heart to say it.  God bless the kindly heart which checks the cruel tongue.”

“No, no, madame,” said Louis; “I would not be cruel.  I cannot forget that my life has been brightened and my court made brilliant during all these years by your wit and your beauty.  But times change, madame, and I owe a duty to the world which overrides my own personal inclinations.  For every reason I think that it is best that we should arrange in the way which we discussed the other day, and that you should withdraw yourself from the court.”