s she said, "I have no
longer a home in the palace; may I hope to find one in the cloister?"
The abbess received her with true Christian sympathy. After listening
with a tearful eye to the recital of her sorrows, she conducted her to
the cell in which she was to pass the night.

"She could not pray, although she cast herself upon her knees beside
the narrow pallet, and strove to rejoice that she had at length
escaped from the trials of a world which had wearied her, and of which
she herself was weary. There was no peace, no joy in her rebel heart.
She thought of the first days of her happiness; of her children, who
on the morrow would ask for her in vain; and then, as memory swept
over her throbbing brain, she remembered her former flight to
Chaillot, and that it was the king himself who had led her back again
into the world. Her brow burned as the question forced itself upon
her, Would he do so a second time? would he once more hasten, as he
had then done, to rescue her from the living death to which she had
consigned herself as an atonement for her past errors?

"But hour after hour went by, and all was silent. Hope died within
her. Daylight streamed dimly into the narrow casement of her cell.
Soon the measured step of the abbess fell upon her ear as she advanced
up the long gallery, striking upon the door of each cell as she
approached, and uttering in a solemn voice, 'Let us bless the Lord.'
To which appeal each of the sisters replied in turn, 'I give him
thanks.'"

The deceptive heart of Louise led her to hope, notwithstanding she had
voluntarily sought the cloister, that the king, yearning for her
presence, would come himself, as soon as he heard of her departure,
and affectionately force her back to the Louvre. Early in the morning
she heard the sound of carriage-wheels entering the court-yard of the
convent. Her heart throbbed with excitement. Soon she was summoned
from her cell to the parlor. Much to her disappointment, the king was
not there, but his minister, M. Colbert, presented to her a very
affectionate letter from his majesty urging her return. As she
hesitated, M. Colbert pleaded earnestly in behalf of his sovereign.

The feeble will of Louise yielded, while yet she blushed at her own
weakness. Tears filled her eyes as she took leave of the abbess,
grasping her hand, and saying, "This is not a farewell; I shall
assuredly return, and perhaps very soon." The king was much moved in
receiving her, and,