'Forgive me,' said I, kissing the miniature, and placing it in my breast; 'but I feel myself attracted towards you by an irresistible fatality, like--' 'Like what, mon bien amie?' 'Like a poor moth towards the light, which is to consume and destroy it!' said I, with more real pathos and feeling than the object of this emotion merited. 'A terrible simile! then, M. Arthur, you love me _wholly_ now?' 'Oh, Madame la Comtesse, you know not how devotedly.' 'Have you nothing better to tell me than all this farrago?' she asked coquettishly. 'Could I tell you ought that was more interesting?' said I, dropping my cheek upon her soft white shoulder. 'Interesting, mon Dieu! to yourself, perhaps.' 'And to you, too, dearest Countess; for you love me in return, I know that you do.' 'Well, perhaps I do love you a little; but remember that my love is like fortune.' 'How?' 'Fickle.' 'Alas! do not say so,' said I, clasping her waist. 'Do you remember a promise you made me?' 'A promise?' she reiterated, casting down her long lashes, 'I do not remember; what was it?' 'That you would give me one of your garters to wear, as M. de Chatillon wears that of Mademoiselle de Guerchi round his sword-arm.' 'Yes; but, my poor boy, it would bring you to the wheel, perhaps.' At that moment while my heart beat like lightning, and a flame seemed before my eyes, the thick arras was hastily drawn aside, and the visage of Antoine--the discreet Antoine--appeared, with the greatest alarm depicted thereon; his eyes were arched to the roots of his hair. 'O Madame la Comtesse,' he exclaimed; 'le Roi! place pour sa Majesté le Roi!' We sprang from the fauteuil in consternation. 'Enter here,' said the Countess, opening the heavy-carved door of a dark Flemish cabinet; 'quick, quick, M. Arthur.' 'Ah, Countess, if the King becomes tender!' said I. 'Well, what then?' 'I may not be able to control my anger.' 'What! you will re-enact Ravaillac here, and make my old cabinet historical, like the house of M. Pontrain, the Notary, in the Ferronerie,' said she, laughing; 'bah! you silly boy: Louis XIII. tender! Mon Dieu, there is no danger of that. In, in; there are times, like this, when one's dearest friends become, like his Majesty, a decided bore!' and pushing me in with her pretty hands, she locked the door, at which, to my great alarm, her little devil of a dog continued to snuff and snort for a time. CHAPTER XIII. LOUIS THE THIRTEENTH.