h his return to the capital had been voluntary; and
when he was finally met at the gates of the city by M. de la Chevalerie,
the lieutenant-governor of the Bastille, he was in such exuberant
spirits that the astounded official deemed it expedient to remind him
that they had not come together to dance a ballet, but for a totally
different purpose.[264]

It was only when he found himself conducted to the very chamber which
had been occupied by the Marechal de Biron previous to his execution,
that a shade of anguish passed over the features of the Count. He could
not but remember that the traitor-Duke, who had rendered great and good
service to his sovereign, had suffered for the same crime of which he
was in his turn accused without any such plea for mercy, and it is
therefore scarcely surprising that he should have been startled upon
finding himself installed as the successor of the condemned marshal.

M. d'Auvergne was not, however, of a temperament long to yield to gloomy
ideas, and consequently, while his unhappy wife[265] was lost in tears,
and endeavouring by every exertion in her power to save him from a fate
which appeared inevitable, he availed himself to the utmost of the
leniency of his jailors, and indulged in every luxury and amusement
which he was enabled to command. Agonised by her apprehensions, the
unhappy Countess at length resolved to throw herself at the feet of the
King, where, with a humility which contrasted strangely with the
unbending arrogance of her sister-in-law, Madame de Verneuil, she
besought in the most touching terms that Henry would spare the life of
her husband, and once more pardon his crime. Her earnest supplications
evidently affected the King, while Marie de Medicis, who was present,
wept with the heart-broken wife, and warmly seconded her petition, but
the monarch, who probably feared the result of such an act of mercy,
having raised her from her knees with a gentle kindness which made her
tears flow afresh, led her to the side of the Queen, upon whose arm he
placed his hand as he said firmly: "Deeply, Madame, do I pity you, and
sympathize in your suffering, but were I to grant what you ask, I must
necessarily admit my wife to be impure, my son a bastard, and my kingdom
the prey of my enemies."

All, therefore, that the Countess could obtain was the royal permission
to communicate with her husband, a concession of which she hastened to
take advantage; when, in reply to her anxious