did
you an injustice, Louvois. I see that you have _not_ looked over these
letters."

The minister had sat with a face which was the colour of beetroot, and
eyes which projected from his head, while this epistle was being read.
It was with relief that he came to the end of it, for at least there was
nothing which compromised him seriously with the king; but every nerve
in his great body tingled with rage as he thought of the way in which
his young scape-grace had alluded to him. "The viper!" he cried.
"Oh, the foul snake in the grass! I will make him curse the day that he
was born."

"Tut, tut, Louvois!" said the king. "You are a man who has seen much of
life, and you should be a philosopher. Hot-headed youth says ever more
than it means. Think no more of the matter. But what have we here?
A letter from my dearest girl to her husband, the Prince de Conti.
I would pick her writing out of a thousand. Ah, dear soul, she little
thought that my eyes would see her artless prattle! Why should I read
it, since I already know every thought of her innocent heart?" He
unfolded the sheet of pink scented paper with a fond smile upon his
face, but it faded away as his eyes glanced down the page, and he Sprang
to his feet with a snarl of anger, his hand over his heart and his eyes
still glued to the paper. "Minx!" he cried, in a choking voice.
"Impertinent, heartless minx! Louvois, you know what I have done for the
princess. You know she has been the apple of my eye. What have I ever
grudged her? What have I ever denied her?"

"You have been goodness itself, sire," said Louvois, whose own wounds
smarted less now that he saw his master writhing.

"Hear what she says of me: 'Old Father Grumpy is much as usual, save
that he gives a little at the knees. You remember how we used to laugh
at his airs and graces! Well, he has given up all that, and though he
still struts about on great high heels, like a Landes peasant on his
stilts, he has no brightness at all in his clothes. Of course, all the
court follow his example, so you can imagine what a nightmare place this
is. Then this woman still keeps in favour, and her frocks are as dismal
as Grumpy's coats; so when you come back we shall go into the country
together, and you shall dress in red velvet, and I shall wear blue silk,
and we shall have a little coloured court of our own in spite of my
majestic papa.'"

Louis sank his face in his hands.

"You hear how she sp