queen.

"Does your majesty remember the day when this pain attacked you for the
first time?"

"I remember only that it was a grievously sad day for me, Motteville."

"But your majesty did not always regard that day as a sad one."

"Why?"

"Because three and twenty years ago, on that very day, his present
majesty, your own glorious son, was born at the very same hour."

The queen uttered a loud cry, buried her face in her hands, and seemed
utterly prostrated for some minutes; but whether from recollections
which arose in her mind, or from reflection, or even with sheer pain,
was doubtful. La Molina darted a look at Madame de Motteville, so full
of bitter reproach, that the poor woman, perfectly ignorant of
its meaning, was in her own exculpation on the point of asking an
explanation, when, suddenly, Anne of Austria arose and said, "Yes, the
5th of September; my sorrow began on the 5th of September. The greatest
joy, one day; the deepest sorrow the next;--the sorrow," she added, "the
bitter expiation of a too excessive joy."

And, from that moment, Anne of Austria, whose memory and reason seemed
to be suspended for the time, remained impenetrable, with vacant look,
mind almost wandering, and hands hanging heavily down, as if life had
almost departed.

"We must put her to bed," said La Molina.

"Presently, Molina."

"Let us leave the queen alone," added the Spanish attendant.

Madame de Motteville rose; large tears were rolling down the queen's
pallid face; and Molina, having observed this sign of weakness, fixed
her black vigilant eyes upon her.

"Yes, yes," replied the queen. "Leave us, Motteville; go."

The word "us" produced a disagreeable effect upon the ears of the
French favorite; for it signified that an interchange of secrets, or of
revelations of the past, was about to be made, and that one person was
_de trop_ in the conversation which seemed likely to take place.

"Will Molina, alone, be sufficient for your majesty to-night?" inquired
the French woman.

"Yes," replied the queen. Madame de Motteville bowed in submission, and
was about to withdraw, when suddenly an old female attendant, dressed
as if she had belonged to the Spanish court of the year 1620, opened
the door, and surprised the queen in her tears. "The remedy!" she cried,
delightedly, to the queen, as she unceremoniously approached the group.

"What remedy?" said Anne of Austria.

"For your majesty's sufferings," the former replie