And was not one as honourable as the other? Nun as she was, Madame de Fontaine was not yet dead to that noble pride, to which, as Madame de Maintenon herself has finely said, “before having died, one must have lived.” And, standing there at the window of that establishment, whose foundation, four years ago, represented an instalment of payment of the debt contracted by the Monarchy to France, to the nobility of France, ruined in its service, she felt the thrill of one whose order “hath chosen the better part.” And all the time, from the lighted palace across the park, floated the soft strains of dance-music! There, they who had made the other choice, who had abandoned their homes, and their home duties, who lived at Court, absentees from their estates, and deserters from their “consigne,” were dancing their “branles,” and “courantes,” their “menuets” and “passe-pied” in the light of the King’s presence. Let them dance on! The true hope of France was in these little sleeping girls, who, gathered together under the pious roof of Saint-Cyr, were being trained for a womanhood, which should work out the regeneration of a kingdom. Never has a more splendid tribute been paid to women than in the foundation of Saint-Cyr; and one runs the risk of failing to realize its importance, both in the history of feminism, and in the history of education, if one neglects to consider it, as much in the light of the statesmanship of Louis XIV. as in that of the charity of Madame de Maintenon. The primary idea was hers, no doubt—but it remained for the King, not only to supply her with the means of putting her project into execution, but to perceive the part it might play in the economical reconstruction of his kingdom. Long wars had left the country desolate, but no class was made “with its desolation more desolate” than the class of country gentlemen. And yet it was among them that the King had always found his most gallant and disinterested defenders. It grieved him to the heart when he heard the tales of the misery in which, among their untilled fields and half-ruined walls, they were rearing their families. In his coffers there was not the wherewithal to requite their services, and help them to cultivate their fields again and rebuild their “gentilhommières.” But there was something else that could be done for them, and the King did it. He could give them “Valiant Women”—and he knew in his heart that the gift was indeed a royal one, and worthy of him—more precious to those who received it than gold and silver. “Far, and from the uttermost coasts” was to be the price of those whom Saint-Cyr was rearing for France.