The minister opened the letter out and flattened it upon the table, with a malicious light dancing in his eyes, which might have cost him his position had the king but read it aright.

“‘My dear nephew,’” he read, “’what you ask me in your last is absolutely impossible.  I have never abused the king’s favour so far as to ask for any profit for myself, and I should be equally sorry to solicit any advance for my relatives.  No one would rejoice more than I to see you rise to be major in your regiment, but your valour and your loyalty must be the cause, and you must not hope to do it through any word of mine.  To serve such a man as the king is its own reward, and I am sure that whether you remain a cornet or rise to some higher rank, you will be equally zealous in his cause.  He is surrounded, unhappily, by many base parasites.  Some of these are mere fools, like Lauzun; others are knaves, like the late Fouquet; and some seem to be both fools and knaves, like Louvois, the minister of war.’” Here the reader choked with rage, and sat gurgling and drumming his fingers upon the table.

“Go on, Louvois, go on,” said Louis, smiling up at the ceiling.

“’These are the clouds which surround the sun, my dear nephew; but the sun is, believe me, shining brightly behind them.  For years I have known that noble nature as few others can know it, and I can tell you that his virtues are his own, but that if ever his glory is for an instant dimmed over, it is because his kindness of heart has allowed him to be swayed by those who are about him.  We hope soon to see you back at Versailles, staggering under the weight of your laurels.  Meanwhile accept my love and every wish for your speedy promotion, although it cannot be obtained in the way which you suggest.’”

“Ah,” cried the king, his love shining in his eyes, “how could I for an instant doubt her!  And yet I had been so shaken by the others!  Francoise is as true as steel.  Was it not a beautiful letter, Louvois?”

“Madame is a very clever woman,” said the minister evasively.

“And such a reader of hearts!  Has she not seen my character aright?”

“At least she has not read mine, sire.”

There was a tap at the door, and Bontems peeped in.  “The archbishop has arrived, sire.”

“Very well, Bontems.  Ask madame to be so good as to step this way.  And order the witnesses to assemble in the ante-room.”

As the valet hastened away, Louis turned to his minister:  “I wish you to be one of the witnesses, Louvois.”

“To what, sire?”

“To my marriage.”

The minister started.  “What, sire!  Already?”

“Now, Louvois; within five minutes.”

“Very good, sire.”  The unhappy courtier strove hard to assume a more festive manner; but the night had been full of vexation to him, and to be condemned to assist in making this woman the king’s wife was the most bitter drop of all.