essary carmine he saw the true blood show
itself as he spoke. He saw the honest, truthful eyes glisten--at least
no rococo monarch could cause them to be made vile!--he knew that his
words had satisfied her. He had an ally, a friend, here. And how
powerful such an ally might be! Yet he continued, his anxiety
overmastering all:

"But in pity, mademoiselle, not so much for me, her father, as her own
innocent, helpless little self--think of her, poor little babe, in
that man's--in any man's power!--tell me all you know. Tell me, I
implore."

What she would have said, what answered, he could not know. At that
moment there came forth from the inner court a troop of the mounted
gendarmerie, followed by an enormous carriage, three times the size of
that in which sat Mademoiselle de Roquemaure, covered with gilding. It
was the carriage of Louis Quatorze, who was about to proceed to Marly
for the night. Naturally, therefore, the vehicle in which Aurelie sat
was forced to go forward; naturally, also, St. Georges had to back his
horse to the side of the huge gateway, since no obstruction was
allowed to impede the gracious sovereign's progress. With a bow they
parted, therefore, she giving him one glance that might mean that
later on they would meet again, while her carriage proceeded as fast
as was possible in the direction of the already fashionable quarter of
St.-Germain.

And he, drawing aside, witnessed the passage of Louis ere he himself
proceeded to present himself to Louvois. He saw the king with his
great carriage full of ladies, saw the table inside it covered with
sweetmeats and fruit, saw the greatest monarch in Europe lolling back
alone on one seat, a dog upon his knees. And, as he bowed low before
his master, it seemed to him almost as if the king had distinguished
him from among the heterogeneous mass of people who thronged the
filthy footpath, and had looked at him an instant as though either
gazing on a familiar face or wondering where he had seen one like it
before.

Chapter XV.

The Minister of War.

"You come a little late, Monsieur St. Georges," the harsh, raucous,
and underbred voice of Louvois said--"a little late. Too late by far
for an officer selected by his Majesty for special service."

He turned his back upon his visitor as he spoke, changing the position
he had assumed in front of the great fireplace in the room set apart
as his cabinet in the Louvre, and seemed now only intent on wat