ry,
desired this reading in order that she might be able, while feigning to
listen, to pursue the thread of her own thoughts.

These thoughts, gilded as they were by a last reflection of love, were
not the less sad. Anne of Austria, deprived of the confidence of her
husband, pursued by the hatred of the cardinal, who could not pardon her
for having repulsed a more tender feeling, having before her eyes the
example of the queen-mother whom that hatred had tormented all her
life--though Marie de Medicis, if the memoirs of the time are to be
believed, had begun by according to the cardinal that sentiment which
Anne of Austria always refused him--Anne of Austria had seen her most
devoted servants fall around her, her most intimate confidants, her
dearest favorites. Like those unfortunate persons endowed with a fatal
gift, she brought misfortune upon everything she touched. Her friendship
was a fatal sign which called down persecution. Mme. de Chevreuse
and Mme. de Bernet were exiled, and Laporte did not conceal from his
mistress that he expected to be arrested every instant.

It was at the moment when she was plunged in the deepest and darkest
of these reflections that the door of the chamber opened, and the king
entered.

The reader hushed herself instantly. All the ladies rose, and there
was a profound silence. As to the king, he made no demonstration of
politeness, only stopping before the queen. "Madame," said he, "you
are about to receive a visit from the chancellor, who will communicate
certain matters to you with which I have charged him."

The unfortunate queen, who was constantly threatened with divorce,
exile, and trial even, turned pale under her rouge, and could not
refrain from saying, "But why this visit, sire? What can the chancellor
have to say to me that your Majesty could not say yourself?"

The king turned upon his heel without reply, and almost at the same
instant the captain of the Guards, M. de Guitant, announced the visit of
the chancellor.

When the chancellor appeared, the king had already gone out by another
door.

The chancellor entered, half smiling, half blushing. As we shall
probably meet with him again in the course of our history, it may be
well for our readers to be made at once acquainted with him.

This chancellor was a pleasant man. He was Des Roches le Masle, canon of
Notre Dame, who had formerly been valet of a bishop, who introduced him
to his Eminence as a perfectly devout m