n the whole, his conscience acquitted him. But in this one matter
he had been lax. From the first coming of his gentle and forgiving
young wife from Spain, he had never once permitted her to be without a
rival. Now that she was dead, the matter was no better. One favourite
had succeeded another, and if De Montespan had held her own so long, it
was rather from her audacity than from his affection. But now Father La
Chaise and Bossuet were ever reminding him that he had topped the summit
of his life, and was already upon that downward path which leads to the
grave. His wild outburst over the unhappy Fontanges had represented the
last flicker of his passions. The time had come for gravity and for
calm, neither of which was to be expected in the company of Madame de
Montespan.

But he had found out where they were to be enjoyed. From the day when
De Montespan had introduced the stately and silent widow as a governess
for his children, he had found a never-failing and ever-increasing
pleasure in her society. In the early days of her coming he had sat for
hours in the rooms of his favourite, watching the tact and sweetness of
temper with which her dependent controlled the mutinous spirits of the
petulant young Duc du Maine and the mischievous little Comte de
Toulouse. He had been there nominally for the purpose of superintending
the teaching, but he had confined himself to admiring the teacher.
And then in time he too had been drawn into the attraction of that
strong sweet nature, and had found himself consulting her upon points of
conduct, and acting upon her advice with a docility which he had never
shown before to minister or mistress. For a time he had thought that
her piety and her talk of principle might be a mere mask, for he was
accustomed to hypocrisy all round him. It was surely unlikely that a
woman who was still beautiful, with as bright an eye and as graceful a
figure as any in his court, could, after a life spent in the gayest
circles, preserve the spirit of a nun. But on this point he was soon
undeceived, for when his own language had become warmer than that of
friendship, he had been met by an iciness of manner and a brevity of
speech which had shown him that there was one woman at least in his
dominions who had a higher respect for herself than for him. And
perhaps it was better so. The placid pleasures of friendship were very
soothing after the storms of passion. To sit in her room every
aftern