As he passed that of his late queen, Maria
Theresa, he started and gasped with horror.

"My God!" he whispered; "she frowned and spat at me!"

Madame laid her cool hand upon his wrist. "It is nothing, sire," she
murmured, in her soothing voice. "It was but the light flickering over
the picture."

Her words had their usual effect upon him. The startled look died away
from his eyes, and taking her hand in his he walked resolutely forwards.
A minute later they were before the altar, and the words were being read
which should bind them forever together. As they turned away again, her
new ring blazing upon her finger, there was a buzz of congratulation
around her. The king only said nothing, but he looked at her, and she
had no wish that he should say more. She was still calm and pale, but
the blood throbbed in her temples. "You are Queen of France now," it
seemed to be humming--"queen, queen, queen!"

But a sudden shadow had fallen across her, and a low voice was in her
ear. "Remember your promise to the Church," it whispered. She started,
and turned to see the pale, eager face of the Jesuit beside her.

"Your hand has turned cold, Francoise," said Louis. "Let us go,
dearest. We have been too long in this dismal church."

CHAPTER XX.

THE TWO FRANCOISES.

Madame de Montespan had retired to rest, easy in her mind, after
receiving the message from her brother. She knew Louis as few others
knew him, and she was well aware of that obstinacy in trifles which was
one of his characteristics. If he had said that he would be married by
the archbishop, then the archbishop it must be; to-night, at least,
there should be no marriage. To-morrow was a new day, and if it did not
shake the king's plans, then indeed she must have lost her wit as well
as her beauty.

She dressed herself with care in the morning, putting on her powder, her
little touch of rouge, her one patch near the dimple of her cheek, her
loose robe of violet velvet, and her casconet of pearls with all the
solicitude of a warrior, who is bracing on his arms for a life and death
contest. No news had come to her of the great event of the previous
night, although the court already rang with it, for her haughtiness and
her bitter tongue had left her without a friend or intimate. She rose,
therefore, in the best of spirits, with her mind set on the one question
as to how best she could gain an audience with the king.

She was still in her bo