you drew him from his wife; you marred his manhood. A crime in
one so high begets a thousand others in those who look to him for an
example; and all, all are upon your soul. Take heed, madame, for God's
sake take heed ere it be too late! For all your beauty, there can be
for you, as for me, a few short years of life. Then, when that brown
hair is white, when that white cheek is sunken, when that bright eye is
dimmed--ah, then God pity the sin-stained soul of Francoise de
Montespan!"

Her rival had sunk her head for the moment before the solemn words and
the beautiful eyes. For an instant she stood silent, cowed for the
first time in all her life; but then the mocking, defiant spirit came
back to her, and she glanced up with a curling lip.

"I am already provided with a spiritual director, thank you," said she.
"Oh, madame, you must not think to throw dust in my eyes! I know you,
and know you well!"

"On the contrary, you seem to know less than I had expected. If you
know me so well, pray what am I?"

All her rival's bitterness and hatred rang in the tones of her answer.
"You are," said she, "the governess of my children, and the secret
mistress of the king."

"You are mistaken," answered Madame de Maintenon serenely. "I am the
governess of your children, and I am the king's wife."

CHAPTER XXI.

THE MAN IN THE CALECHE.

Often had De Montespan feigned a faint in the days when she wished to
disarm the anger of the king. So she had drawn his arms round her, and
won the pity which is the twin sister of love. But now she knew what it
was to have the senses struck out of her by a word. She could not doubt
the truth of what she heard. There was that in her rival's face, in her
steady eye, in her quiet voice, which carried absolute conviction with
it. She stood stunned for an instant, panting, her outstretched hands
feeling at the air, her defiant eyes dulling and glazing. Then, with a
short sharp cry, the wail of one who has fought hard and yet knows that
she can fight no more, her proud head drooped, and she fell forward
senseless at the feet of her rival. Madame de Maintenon stooped and
raised her up in her strong white arms. There was true grief and pity
in her eyes as she looked down at the snow-pale face which lay against
her bosom, all the bitterness and pride gone out of it, and nothing left
save the tear which sparkled under the dark lashes, and the petulant
droop of the lip, like that