There was a melting expression in the King’s eyes which she had never seen before. It alarmed her. She felt that her only excuse for the treacherous part she was acting was in the perfect innocence of their relations. A visible tremor passed over her. She blushed violently, a look of pain came into her face, and her eyes fell before his gaze. “You do not speak? Have I offended you?” cried Louis, much excited. “What have I said? Oh, mademoiselle, do not lose your sympathy for me, else I shall die! I know I am unworthy of your notice; but--see how I trust you. The hours I spend in your society give me the only happiness I enjoy. Pity, pity the King of France, who craves your help, who implores your sympathy!” Mademoiselle de Hautefort, speaking in her usual quiet manner, entreated him to be calm. “Am I forgiven?” said he in a faltering voice, looking the picture of despair. “Will you still trust me?” “Yes, yes, Sire. I am ashamed to answer such a question. Your Majesty has given me no offence.” Louis reseated himself. “It is to prepare you for an unexpected event that I wish to talk to you. It is possible that I may shortly leave Compiègne suddenly and secretly. I must tear myself away from you for a while.” “Leave the Court, Sire! What do you mean?” “The quarrels between my mother and Richelieu are more than I can endure. They must end. One must go--I will not say which. You can guess. I am assured by Richelieu, who has information from all parts of France, that her Majesty is hated by the people. She is suspected of a knowledge of my great father’s death; she has abused her position. No one feels any interest in her fate.” “But, surely, your Majesty feels no pleasure in knowing that it is so, even if it be true, which I much doubt.” “Well, her Majesty has deserved little favour of me,” replied he with indifference. “Richelieu tells me that her exile would be a popular act----” “Her exile, Sire! You surely do not contemplate the exile of your own mother?” “Possibly not--possibly not; but a sovereign must be advised by his ministers. It is indispensable to the prosperity of the State.” Mademoiselle de Hautefort was silent, but something of the contempt she felt might have been seen in her expressive eyes. “I do not feel disposed,” continued he, “to face the anger of the Queen-mother when she hears my determination. She would use violent language to me that might make me forget I am her son. Richelieu must break it to her. He can do it while I am away. Agitation injures my health, it deranges my digestion. I have enough to bear from my wife, from whom it is not so easy to escape----” Again he stopped abruptly, as if he were about to say more than he intended. Mademoiselle de Hautefort, ever on the lookout for all that concerned her mistress the Queen, glanced at him with sullen curiosity. Her eyes read his thoughts. “Your Majesty is concealing something from me?” she said.