way, than a living being; she seemed not to hear either of
the whisperings which arose from the court. She seemed to be communing
within herself; and her beautiful, delicate hands trembled from time
to time as though at the contact of some invisible touch. She was so
completely absorbed in her reverie, that the king entered without her
perceiving him. At a distance he gazed upon her lovely face, upon which
the moon shed its pure silvery light.

"Good Heavens!" he exclaimed, with a terror he could not control, "she
is dead."

"No, sire," said Montalais, in a low voice; "on the contrary, she is
better. Are you not better, Louise?"

But Louise did not answer. "Louise," continued Montalais, "the king has
deigned to express his uneasiness on your account."

"The king!" exclaimed Louise, starting up abruptly, as if a stream of
fire had started through her frame to her heart; "the king uneasy about
me?"

"Yes," said Montalais.

"The king is here, then?" said La Valliere, not venturing to look round
her.

"That voice! that voice!" whispered Louis, eagerly, to Saint-Aignan.

"Yes, it is so," replied Saint-Aignan; "your majesty is right; it is she
who declared her love for the sun."

"Hush!" said the king. And then approaching La Valliere, he said, "You
are not well, Mademoiselle de la Valliere? Just now, indeed, in the
park, I saw that you had fainted. How were you attacked?"

"Sire," stammered out the poor child, pale and trembling, "I really do
not know."

"You have been walking too far," said the king; "and fatigue, perhaps--"

"No, sire," said Montalais, eagerly, answering for her friend, "it could
not be from fatigue, for we passed most of the evening seated beneath
the royal oak."

"Under the royal oak?" returned the king, starting. "I was not deceived;
it is as I thought." And he directed a look of intelligence at the
comte.

"Yes," said Saint-Aignan, "under the royal oak, with Mademoiselle de
Tonnay-Charente."

"How do you know that?" inquired Montalais.

"In a very simple way. Mademoiselle de Tonnay-Charente told me so."

"In that case, she probably told you the cause of Mademoiselle de la
Valliere's fainting?"

"Why, yes; she told me something about a wolf or a robber. I forget
precisely which." La Valliere listened, her eyes fixed, her bosom
heaving, as if, gifted with an acuteness of perception, she foresaw a
portion of the truth. Louis imagined this attitude and agitation to
be the consequen