ound another pretext; all at once--"

"All at once," said the king, playfully, "some one else presents
himself. It is but natural; you are beautiful, and will always meet with
men who will madly love you."

"In that case," exclaimed the princess, "I will create a solitude around
me, which indeed seems to be what is wished, and what is being prepared
for me. But no, I prefer to return to London. There I am known and
appreciated. I shall have friends, without fearing they may be regarded
as my lovers. Shame! it is a disgraceful suspicion, and unworthy a
gentleman. Monsieur has lost everything in my estimation, since he has
shown me he can be a tyrant to a woman."

"Nay, nay, my brother's only fault is that of loving you."

"Love me! Monsieur love me! Ah! sire," and she burst out laughing.
"Monsieur will never love any woman," she said; "Monsieur loves himself
too much; no, unhappily for me, Monsieur's jealousy is of the worst
kind--he is jealous without love."

"Confess, however," said the king, who began to be excited by this
varied and animated conversation; "confess that Guiche loves you."

"Ah! sire, I know nothing about that."

"You must have perceived it. A man who loves readily betrays himself."

"M. de Guiche has not betrayed himself."

"My dear sister, you are defending M. de Guiche."

"I, indeed! Ah, sire, I only needed a suspicion from yourself to crown
my wretchedness."

"No, madame, no," returned the king, hurriedly; "do not distress
yourself. Nay, you are weeping. I implore you to calm yourself."

She wept, however, and large tears fell upon her hands; the king took
one of her hands in his, and kissed the tears away. She looked at him
so sadly and with so much tenderness that he felt his heart giving way
under her gaze.

"You have no kind of feeling, then, for Guiche?" he said, more disturbed
than became his character of mediator.

"None--absolutely none."

"Then I can reassure my brother in that respect?"

"Nothing will satisfy him, sire. Do not believe he is jealous. Monsieur
has been badly advised by some one, and he is of nervous disposition."

"He may well be so when you are concerned," said the king.

Madame cast down her eyes, and was silent; the king did so likewise,
still holding her hand all the while. Their momentary silence seemed to
last an age. Madame gently withdrew her hand, and from that moment, she
felt her triumph was certain, and that the field of battle was her own.