I was delivered from my dilemma by the curiosity which is, providentially perhaps, a part of woman’s character, and which led mademoiselle to interfere herself. Keenly on the watch inside, she had heard part of what passed between us, and been rendered inquisitive by the sound of a strange man’s voice, and by the deference which she could discern I paid to the visitor. At this moment, she cried out, accordingly, to know who was there; and Fanchette, seeming to take this as a command, rose and dragged her stool aside, saying peevishly and without any increase of respect, ‘There, I told you she could hear.’ ‘Who is it?’ mademoiselle asked again, in a raised voice. I was about to answer when the king signed to me to stand back, and, advancing himself, knocked gently on the door. ‘Open, I pray you, mademoiselle,’ he said courteously. ‘Who is there?’ she cried again, her voice trembling. ‘It is I, the king,’ he answered softly; but in that tone of majesty which belongs not to the man, but to the descendant, and seems to be the outcome of centuries of command. She uttered an exclamation and slowly, and with seeming reluctance, turned the key in the lock. It grated, and the door opened. I caught a glimpse for an instant of her pale face and bright eyes, and then his Majesty, removing his hat, passed in and closed the door; and I withdrew to the farther end of the room, where madame continued to stand by the entrance. I entertained a suspicion, I remember, and not unnaturally, that she had come to my lodging as her husband’s spy; but her first words when I joined her dispelled this. ‘Quick!’ she said with an imperious gesture. ‘Hear me and let me go! I have waited long enough for you, and suffered enough through you. As for that, woman in there, she is mad, and her servant too! Now, listen to me. You spoke to me honestly to-day, and I have come to repay you. You have an appointment with my husband to-morrow at Chaverny. Is it not so?’ she added impatiently. I replied that it was so. ‘You are to go with one friend,’ she went on, tearing the glove she had taken off, to strips in her excitement, ‘He is to meet you with one also?’ ‘Yes,’ I assented reluctantly, ‘at the bridge, madame.’ ‘Then do not go,’ she rejoined emphatically. ‘Shame on me that I should betray my husband; but it were worse to send an innocent man to his death. He will meet you with one sword only, according to his challenge, but there will be those under the bridge who will make certain work. There, I have betrayed him now!’ she continued bitterly. ‘It is done. Let me go!’ ‘Nay, but, madame,’ I said, feeling more concerned for her, on whom from the first moment of meeting her I had brought nothing but misfortune, than surprised by this new treachery on his part, ‘will you not run some risk in returning to him? Is there nothing I can do for you--no step I can take for your protection?’ ‘None!’ she said repellently and almost rudely, ‘except to speed my going.’