And to him it mainly was that she owed her release from the convent. A representation by Molière and his company had been given at Versailles of his new play, _Le Malade Imaginaire_, and the king, on its conclusion, had sent for Molière in some anxiety; for it had been evident to him that the actor was himself no imaginary invalid, but suffering and exhausted with the exertion of his arduous _rôle_ of Argan. More than once of late his understudy, Croisy, had been required to take his place; and the king expressed his sympathy and his regret that Molière should have over-fatigued himself to afford him gratification, for that his health was too precious to be trifled with. Molière replied that he would have striven to leave his very deathbed to plead the cause he sought to win of His Majesty; and then he went on to tell of Ninon’s captivity, of which the king appeared to be ignorant. “It is, moreover, very absurd, Sire,” added Molière, “for I assure your Majesty, that Ninon is neither _fille_ nor _répentie_.” The king laughed at this view of the case, as did his minister Colbert, who was seated near, and Molière, not losing sight of the royal proclivity of promise-breaking, wasted not a moment in causing the order vouchsafed for Ninon’s release, to be delivered in to the Superior of the _Répenties_. Then a coach was sent for, the gates were opened, and Ninon was free. Full of gratitude for the favour which she had not so much as sought of Molière, she hastened to his house. He was seated wearily in a chair, but for the moment, in her joyful excitement, she did not notice his appearance, more especially as he sprang up briskly to meet her and to take her in his arms, while her tears fell fast, assuring her that she had done him a world of good. Before she came in he owned that he had been feeling unusually ill, and was about to ask Croisy to take his place on the stage that evening; but now—“No, I will play myself,” added Molière, and his pale cheeks flushed, and his eyes gathered their wonted brightness and animation. “I will be _Le Malade Imaginaire_ once more!” Alas! once more. And a little while before the curtain fell for the last time on the closing interlude, the word “_juro_,” several times reiterated through the dialogue, came faintly on a stream of blood from his lips, and the dying Molière was borne from the stage.