nderly, and pressed her to tell him the cause of her
emotion.

"Nothing is the matter, sire," she said.

"And yet you were weeping?"

"Oh, no, indeed, sire."

"Look, Saint-Aignan, and tell me if I am mistaken."

Saint-Aignan ought to have answered, but he was too much embarrassed.

"At all events your eyes are red, mademoiselle," said the king.

"The dust of the road merely, sire."

"No, no; you no longer possess the air of supreme contentment which
renders you so beautiful and so attractive. You do not look at me. Why
avoid my gaze?" he said, as she turned aside her head. "In Heaven's
name, what is the matter?" he inquired, beginning to lose command over
himself.

"Nothing at all, sire; and I am perfectly ready to assure your majesty
that my mind is as free form anxiety as you could possibly wish."

"Your mind at ease, when I see you are embarrassed at the slightest
thing. Has any one annoyed you?"

"No, no, sire."

"I insist upon knowing if such really be the case," said the prince, his
eyes sparkling.

"No one, sire, no one has in any way offended me."

"In that case, pray resume your gentle air of gayety, or that sweet
melancholy look which I so loved in you this morning; for pity's sake,
do so."

"Yes, sire, yes."

The king tapped the floor impatiently with his foot, saying, "Such a
change is positively inexplicable." And he looked at Saint-Aignan, who
had also remarked La Valliere's peculiar lethargy, as well as the king's
impatience.

It was futile for the king to entreat, and as useless for him to try to
overcome her depression: the poor girl was completely overwhelmed,--the
appearance of an angel would hardly have awakened her from her torpor.

The king saw in her repeated negative replies a mystery full of
unkindness; he began to look round the apartment with a suspicious air.
There happened to be in La Valliere's room a miniature of Athos.
The king remarked that this portrait bore a strong resemblance to
Bragelonne, for it had been taken when the count was quite a young man.
He looked at it with a threatening air. La Valliere, in her misery far
indeed from thinking of this portrait, could not conjecture the cause
of the king's preoccupation. And yet the king's mind was occupied with
a terrible remembrance, which had more than once taken possession of
his mind, but which he had always driven away. He recalled the
intimacy existing between the two young people from their birth, their
en