“When I am gone, mademoiselle,” said he tenderly, “do not forget me. You are my only friend. I will watch over you, though absent. Here is a piece of gold, pure and unalloyed as are my feelings toward you,” and he disengaged from his neck a medallion delicately chased. “See, I have broken it. One half I will keep; the other shall rest in your bosom”; and he pressed it to his lips, and placed it in Mademoiselle de Hautefort’s hands. “As long as you hold that piece of gold without the other half, know that as the token is divided between us, so is my heart--the better half with you.” Her conscience smote her as she received this pledge. Louis had such perfect faith in her integrity, she almost repented that her duty to the Queen forced her to deceive him. “Your Majesty overwhelms me,” said she, making a deep reverence. “The Court is full of intrigues,” continued Louis, “I have no wish to control my minister; but remember this--obey no order, defy all commands, that are delivered to you without that token.” The maid of honour bowed her head. A tear stole down her cheek; the King’s simplicity touched her in spite of herself. “Adieu, mademoiselle,” said he, “my best, my only friend. I humbly crave your pardon for aught I may have said or done to wound your delicacy. We will meet at Saint-Germain: then, perhaps, you will fear me less. We will meet at Saint-Germain.” He hesitated, and approached dangerously near to the handsome maid of honour, whose confusion made her all the more attractive. As he approached, she retreated. Suddenly the curtain was drawn aside, and a page entered the closet, and announced-- “The Queen-dowager, who demands instant admittance to her son, the King.” Mademoiselle de Hautefort disappeared in an instant through a door concealed in the arras. The King, pale as death, put his hand to his heart, sank into a chair, and awaited the arrival of his mother. CHAPTER XXXI. AN OMINOUS INTERVIEW. Louis had not long to wait; scarcely a moment passed before Marie de’ Medici appeared. She entered hastily; marks of violent agitation were on her countenance; her brows were knit; her eyes flashed. She was in the prime of middle life, but grown stout and unwieldy; her delicate complexion had become red and coarse, and her voice was loud and harsh; but her height, and the long habit of almost absolute command, gave her still an imposing presence. Louis involuntarily shuddered at her approach; he had been long accustomed to tremble at her frown. His first impulse was to fly by the same door through which Mademoiselle de Hautefort had vanished. He rose, however, bowed low before her, and offered her a seat. “My son,” she cried in a husky voice, walking straight up to him, “I have come to request you instantly to banish Richelieu. If you do not, I shall return to Florence. The insolence of that villain whom I have made your minister is intolerable. He has disobeyed my express commands!” “What has Richelieu done, madame?”