"I am at your service, madame," said the minister, who happily had assumed his most absent and indifferent smile, while Madame de V---- invited me to call and see her. Returning to the salon, my eyes sought Madame de Fersen; I met her glance, which seemed austere. I went home. When I was no longer under the charm of Madame de V----'s attractive face, I compared that daring levity with Madame de Fersen's dignified and serious grace. I also compared the profound respect and almost obsequious reserve with which men approached her to the cavalier deportment they exhibited towards Madame de V----, and I felt more and more how powerful is the attraction a virtuous woman possesses, and I felt my love for Catherine still increasing. I was glad that I might look forward to meeting Irene at the Tuileries, and that I had been so well understood by Madame de Fersen. I fancied also--was it an illusion of love?--that Madame de Fersen had seemed almost sad at my long conversation with Madame de V----. CHAPTER XVII THE TUILERIES I waited with extreme impatience the hour for going to the Tuileries to meet Irene. I attached a thousand thoughts of love and noble devotion in reflecting that child was coming to me covered with the bloom of her mother's kisses, and doubtless bringing me a thousand secret wishes. About one o'clock, though the air was opaque with a slight autumnal fog, I saw Irene approaching, accompanied by her nurse, an excellent woman who had filled the same position to Madame de Fersen. Generally at Toulon, or Lyons for instance, where we had made a few days' stay, one of the princess's maids, followed by a footman, had always accompanied Irene in her walks. I noticed with pleasure that Madame de Fersen, by entrusting her little girl this time to the nurse, of whose attachment she felt sure, had understood the necessity of keeping these meetings secret. Tears sprang to my eyes when I saw how much Irene had changed. Her charming face was pale and pinched; no longer with its habitual pallor, delicate and roseate, but with a sickly pallor; her large eyes had dark rings under them, and her cheeks, formerly plump and round, were now slightly hollowed. Irene did not see me at first; she walked close to her nurse, her pretty head bent down, her arms hanging, and with the tips of her pretty feet she crushed the dead leaves which littered the path. "Good morning, Irene," I said to her. Scarcely had she heard the sound of my voice, than she gave a piercing cry, threw herself into my arms, closed her eyes and fainted. I carried her to a bench near by with the help of Madame Paul, her nurse. "I feared this shock, monsieur," she said to me; "fortunately, I brought a bottle of salts with me. Poor child! she is so nervous." "Look--look," said I, "the colour returns to her cheeks; her hands are not so cold; she is regaining consciousness."