Two summers thus passed away without Madame d'Etioles obtaining aught from the king save a cold and distant glance, or a passing word or two; and this, for a woman of her ambition, was not sufficient. She returned to Paris at the close of the summer season, determined to change once more her plan of attack. A good opening was now before her, for Madame de Chateauroux was dead, the throne of the favorite vacant; not an hour was to be lost, for, with Louis XV. who could tell how soon a successor might be appointed? The wished-for opportunity at length presented itself. In the month of December, 1744, a series of magnificent _fêtes_ were given at the Hôtel de Ville; the women were masqued. In the course of the evening Madame d'Etioles succeeded in approaching the king,-- "Sire," she said, "you must explain to me, if you please, a strange dream. I dreamt that I was seated on a throne for an entire day; I do not affirm that this throne was the throne of France, yet I dare assert that it was a throne of purple, of gold, and of diamonds: this dream torments me--it is at once the joy and torment of my life. Sire, for mercy's sake, interpret it for me." "The interpretation is very simple," replied the king; "but, in the first place it is absolutely necessary that that velvet masque should fall." "You have seen me." "Where?" "In the forest of Senart." "Then," said the king, "you can divine that we should like to see you again." About a month or two after this interview, according to some biographers, Madame d'Etioles, being determined by a _coup de main_ to attain her grand object, namely, the securing a permanent footing at Versailles, arrived one morning at the palace in a state of violent agitation, and demanded an audience of the king. One of the gentleman ushers, a certain M. de Bridge, who had been a guest at Etioles during the festivities of the preceding season, conducted her into the presence of Louis XV. "Sire," she exclaimed, "I am lost; my husband knows my glory and my misfortune. I come to demand a refuge at your hands. If you shelter me not from his anger he will kill me." From that hour she took up her residence at Versailles to quit it no more. We know that Louis XV. passed his life in a state of constant lassitude and _ennui_, from which it was almost impossible to arouse him; indolence, indeed, may be said to have been the predominant trait in his character: he hated politics and political matters, and all allusions to state affairs were most irksome to him. "Your people suffer, sire," said the Duke de Choiseul to him one day, after a long political harangue. "_Je m'ennuie!_" replied the king.