Louis was so completely abstracted, that although he had asked her a question, he had forgotten to listen to her reply. Now he caught at her last word. “Madrid? Yes, Madame, I believe it. Your heart is there. I know it but too well. Would you had never left Madrid! Ever since you came into France you have desired my death that you might wed a comelier consort.” Louis could scarcely articulate, so violently was he excited. Anne did not stir, only her glowing eyes followed, as it were, each word he uttered. “You talk of the Queen-mother, do you know that she warned me long ago that you were dishonouring me?” “Oh, Sire, if you forget who I am,” exclaimed the Queen, “remember at least that I am a woman!” and she burst into tears, and for a few moments sobbed bitterly. “Can you deny it, Madame,” continued the King, with rising fury, his mouth twitching nervously, as was his wont when much agitated--“can you deny it? Am I not become a jest among my own courtiers? You, the Queen of France, openly encourage the addresses of many lovers. You are wanting, Madame, even in the decency of the reserve becoming your high station,” and Louis clenched his fist with rage. “I deny what you say,” returned the Queen boldly; “I have discoursed with no man to the dishonour of your Majesty.” She was trembling violently, but she spoke firmly and with dignity. “If I am wanting in concealment,” added she, “it is because I have nothing to conceal.” “I do not believe you,” answered the King rudely. “No, Sire, you do not, because you are my enemy. Your mind is poisoned against me. You encourage the lies of Richelieu, you slander me to my own attendants. Worse than all, you dare to couple my name with that of the Duc d’Orléans, your own brother. It is a gross calumny.” Her voice rose as she spoke; the power of truth and innocence was in her look--it was impossible not to believe her. For an instant the King’s suspicions seemed shaken. He followed eagerly every word she uttered; but at the name of Monsieur a livid paleness overspread his face; for a moment he looked as if he would have swooned. Then recovering himself somewhat he came close up to her, and with a wild look he scanned her curiously, as though to read some answer to his suspicions. “Who can have told her? who can have told her?” he muttered half aloud--“a secret of state too. It is not possible that--” The last words were spoken so low that they were lost. Louis was evidently struggling with some painful but overwhelming conviction. His head sunk on his breast. Again he became lost in thought. Then, looking up, he saw that the Queen was watching him. She was waiting for him to speak. This awakened him suddenly to a consciousness of what was passing, and his anger burst forth afresh.