emoiselle Lecouvreur's.

I slipped back to the inn and gave Count Saxe the message sent him by
Mademoiselle Lecouvreur. He had an interview with her that night at
her house. When he returned he looked more serious than he had done at
the prospect of losing Courland, for he saw that the world would soon
have to part with that true heart and noble artist, Adrienne
Lecouvreur. He said only a few words about her, but they came from his
heart of hearts. I am aware that some people say he had no heart, but
I, Babache, know better; else would I have died like a felon the day I
first spoke with him face to face.

Presently, as we sat together in his dingy room at the inn, after the
midnight bells had spoken, he said:

"Babache, I have found out enough since I have been in Paris to show
me that I must see the king before twenty-four hours are over. The
court goes to Versailles early to-morrow morning. Arrange that we go
there to-morrow afternoon in good state."

With that he tumbled into bed. I was up at daylight, preparing for the
journey. I wished for Gaston Cheverny then--he would have been of
infinite service to me. My master had a magnificent gilt coach stored
in Paris, and also twenty liveries of green and gold. I had to get
these things out, have them dusted and overhauled, find six horses for
the coach, and others for the outriders--in short, do the work of a
week in a day. But it was done nevertheless; and at two o'clock on the
next day Count Saxe set forth with an equipage and retinue worthy of
him. I rode in the coach with him, and we reached Versailles before
sunset.

It was a cold, bright, December afternoon, the sun near sinking--we
were determined to arrive before sunset, lest our enemies should say
we had sneaked in by night to avoid being seen. But we rolled up to
the foot of the grand staircase, with a rattle and a roar, and a color
and a shining which showed that Maurice of Saxe was not avoiding any
man's eyes--or woman's, either.

Now, my master had what is called the grand entree; that is to say, he
could go to the king whenever he wished. So, without saying "by your
leave" to anybody, he stepped out of his coach and began ascending the
grand staircase. There were numbers of people about, and all of them
stared at him, and many spoke, Count Saxe returning their salutations
cordially. We mounted leisurely. Midway the stairs we met Cardinal
Fleury, with his private chaplain, descending. The cardinal was