It was the Abbé, sure enough, in plain attire, as became his profession; but with an expression of hope and elation on his brow which even his perfect self-command seemed unable to conceal. “Pardon, madame!” said he, standing, hat in hand, on the threshold; “I was in attendance to conduct you to the gallery, as usual, when the intelligence that reached me, and, indeed, the confusion I myself witnessed, induced me to take the liberty of waiting on you at once.” “No great liberty,” answered the Marquise, smiling, “seeing that I must have encountered you, at any rate, within three paces of my door. But what is this alarming news, my cousin, that agitates even your imperturbable front? Nothing wrong with the barb, I hope!” “Not so bad as that, madame,” replied the Abbé, who was rapidly recovering his calmness. “It is only a matter affecting his Majesty. I have just learned the king is taken seriously ill. Fagon crossed the courtyard five minutes ago. Worse than that, Père Tellier has been sent for.” “Père Tellier!” repeated the Marquise. “The king’s confessor! Then the attack is dangerous?” “There is no doubt that his Majesty’s state is precarious in the extreme,” answered the Abbé, seriously. “It is a severe and exhausting malady from which he suffers, and at his time of life we may anticipate the gravest results. Madame, I must be in Paris by break of day to-morrow, to wait on the Duke of Orleans.” She looked at him with a half-contemptuous indulgence, and laughed. “So soon?” said she. “Nay, then, I am satisfied you think the worst. My cousin, you are wise in your generation, no doubt; and it would be a sudden blow, indeed, that should fall and find you unprepared. Nevertheless, is not this haste indecent? Worse; is it not ill-judged? The king has a wonderful constitution; Fagon is a cautious physician. His Majesty may recover in spite of the doctor.” “And sin again in spite of his confessor,” added the Abbé. “Nevertheless, I think both have foreseen a crisis for some time past. Fagon has called in Marechal to help him; and Père Tellier has been asking for every vacant benefice during the last three weeks.” “It was very polite of you, my cousin,” observed the Marquise, after a pause, “to come and tell me at once; though the only immediate result of all this confusion to _me_ is, that I suppose I may undress and go to bed. I have had a fatiguing day.” “Pardon again,” answered the Abbé. “I fear you must attend as usual in the gallery; and, indeed, it would be a thousand pities that such a toilette should be wasted, for you look beautiful, and are charmingly dressed. You know, besides, that only the king’s own order can rescind the daily regulations for the Court.” “We had better proceed, then,” said Madame de Montmirail. “Célandine has revised me thoroughly, and the sooner I go the sooner I shall get it over. Believe me, it would require some excitement stronger than common to keep me awake to-night.”