hat."

"Well, what do you know?"

"That Madame is in love with M. de Guiche."

"The one is the consequence of the other."

"Not always, my good monsieur."

"Is that remark intended for me?"

"Present company always excepted."

"Thank you," said Malicorne. "Well, and in the other direction, what is
stirring?"

"The king wished, this evening, after the lottery, to see Mademoiselle
de la Valliere."

"Well, and he has seen her?"

"No, indeed!"

"What do you mean by that?"

"The door was shut and locked."

"So that--"

"So that the king was obliged to go back again, looking very sheepish,
like a thief who has forgotten his crowbar."

"Good."

"And in the third place?" inquired Montalais.

"The courier who has just arrived for De Guiche came from M. de
Bragelonne."

"Excellent," said Montalais, clapping her hands together.

"Why so?"

"Because we have work to do. If we get weary now, something unlucky will
be sure to happen."

"We must divide the work, then," said Malicorne, "in order to avoid
confusion."

"Nothing easier," replied Montalais. "Three intrigues, carefully nursed,
and carefully encouraged, will produce, one with another, and taking a
low average, three love letters a day."

"Oh!" exclaimed Malicorne, shrugging his shoulders, "you cannot mean
what you say, darling; three letters a day, that may do for sentimental
common people. A musketeer on duty, a young girl in a convent, may
exchange letters with their lovers once a day, perhaps, from the top
of a ladder, or through a hole in the wall. A letter contains all the
poetry their poor little hearts have to boast of. But the cases we have
in hand require to be dealt with very differently."

"Well, finish," said Montalais, out of patience with him. "Some one may
come."

"Finish! Why, I am only at the beginning. I have still three points as
yet untouched."

"Upon my word, he will be the death of me, with his Flemish
indifference," exclaimed Montalais.

"And you will drive me mad with your Italian vivacity. I was going to
say that our lovers here will be writing volumes to each other. But what
are you driving at?"

"At this. Not one of our lady correspondents will be able to keep the
letters they may receive."

"Very likely."

"M. de Guiche will not be able to keep his either."

"That is probable."

"Very well, then; I will take care of all that."

"That is the very thing that is impossible," said Malicorne.

"Why so?"