its
full extent, but without guessing the cause. "You hear, madame?"

"Yes, sire, I hear," stammered the queen.

"You will appear at this ball?"

"Yes."

"With those studs?"

"Yes."

The queen's paleness, if possible, increased; the king perceived it, and
enjoyed it with that cold cruelty which was one of the worst sides of
his character.

"Then that is agreed," said the king, "and that is all I had to say to
you."

"But on what day will this ball take place?" asked Anne of Austria.

Louis XIII felt instinctively that he ought not to reply to this
question, the queen having put it in an almost dying voice.

"Oh, very shortly, madame," said he; "but I do not precisely recollect
the date of the day. I will ask the cardinal."

"It was the cardinal, then, who informed you of this fete?"

"Yes, madame," replied the astonished king; "but why do you ask that?"

"It was he who told you to invite me to appear with these studs?"

"That is to say, madame--"

"It was he, sire, it was he!"

"Well, and what does it signify whether it was he or I? Is there any
crime in this request?"

"No, sire."

"Then you will appear?"

"Yes, sire."

"That is well," said the king, retiring, "that is well; I count upon
it."

The queen made a curtsy, less from etiquette than because her knees were
sinking under her. The king went away enchanted.

"I am lost," murmured the queen, "lost!--for the cardinal knows all, and
it is he who urges on the king, who as yet knows nothing but will soon
know everything. I am lost! My God, my God, my God!"

She knelt upon a cushion and prayed, with her head buried between her
palpitating arms.

In fact, her position was terrible. Buckingham had returned to London;
Mme. Chevreuse was at Tours. More closely watched than ever, the queen
felt certain, without knowing how to tell which, that one of her women
had betrayed her. Laporte could not leave the Louvre; she had not a soul
in the world in whom she could confide. Thus, while contemplating the
misfortune which threatened her and the abandonment in which she was
left, she broke out into sobs and tears.

"Can I be of service to your Majesty?" said all at once a voice full of
sweetness and pity.

The queen turned sharply round, for there could be no deception in the
expression of that voice; it was a friend who spoke thus.

In fact, at one of the doors which opened into the queen's apartment
appeared the pretty Mme. Bonacieux. She ha