ce of a terror only partially reassured. "Nay, fear
nothing," he said, with a rising emotion which he could not conceal;
"the wolf which terrified you so much was simply a wolf with two legs."

"It was a man, then!" said Louise; "it was a man who was listening?"

"Suppose it was so, mademoiselle, what great harm was there in his
having listened? Is it likely that, even in your own opinion, you would
have said anything which could not have been listened to?"

La Valliere wrung her hands, and hid her face in them, as if to hide her
blushes. "In Heaven's name," she said, "who was concealed there? Who was
listening?"

The king advanced towards her, to take hold of one of her hands. "It
was I," he said, bowing with marked respect. "Is it likely I could have
frightened you?" La Valliere uttered a loud cry; for the second time
her strength forsook her; and moaning in utter despair, she again fell
lifeless in her chair. The king had just time to hold out his arm; so
that she was partially supported by him. Mademoiselle de Tonnay-Charente
and Montalais, who stood a few paces from the king and La Valliere,
motionless and almost petrified at the recollection of their
conversation with La Valliere, did not even think of offering their
assistance, feeling restrained by the presence of the king, who, with
one knee on the ground, held La Valliere round the waist with his arm.

"You heard, sire!" murmured Athenais. But the king did not reply; he
remained with his eyes fixed upon La Valliere's half-closed eyes, and
held her quiescent hand in his own.

"Of course," replied Saint-Aignan, who, on his side, hoping that
Mademoiselle de Tonnay-Charente, too, would faint, advancing towards
her, holding his arms extended,--"of course; we did not even lose a
single word." But the haughty Athenais was not a woman to faint easily;
she darted a terrible look at Saint-Aignan, and fled. Montalais, with
more courage, advanced hurriedly towards Louise, and received her from
the king's hands, who was already fast losing his presence of mind, as
he felt his face covered by the perfumed tresses of the seemingly dying
girl. "Excellent," whispered Saint-Aignan. "This is indeed an adventure;
and it will be my own fault if I am not the first to relate it."

The king approached him, and, with a trembling voice and a passionate
gesture, said, "Not a syllable, comte."

The poor king forgot that, only an hour before, he had given him a
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