“I would fain believe it,” replies the King, watching her in painful suspense; he seems to wait for some further justification, but not another syllable passes her lips. Still the King lingers; his looks are riveted upon her. At this moment the music ceases. The maid of honour starts up, for the Queen has left the balcony. The King had vanished. Anne of Austria, quitting those around her, advances alone to the spot where Mademoiselle de Hautefort had been talking with the King. “I am going at once to the Val de Grâce,” she whispers in great agitation. “Indeed, Madame; so suddenly?” “Yes, at once. I have just heard from the Chevalier de Jars that Chalais is arrested at Nantes. He accuses me and the Duchesse de Chevreuse of conspiring with him. Richelieu meditates some _coup de main_ against me. I shall be safe at the Val de Grâce. You and the Duchess will accompany me. Here is a letter I have written in pencil to my brother; it is most important. I dare not carry it about me; take care to deliver it yourself to Laporte.” The Queen drew from her pocket a letter, placed it in the maid of honour’s hand, and hastened back to rejoin the company. Mademoiselle was about to follow her, when Louis suddenly rose up before her, and barred her advance. “Mademoiselle de Hautefort,” he said, “I have heard all. I was concealed behind that curtain. Give me that letter, written by my wife, I command you.” “Never, Sire, never!” and Mademoiselle de Hautefort crushed the letter in her hand. “How--dare you refuse me? Give it to me instantly!” and he tried to tear it from her grasp. She eluded him, retreated a few steps, and paused for a moment to think, then, as if a sudden inspiration had struck her, she opened the lace kerchief which covered her neck, thrust the letter into her bosom, and exclaimed:-- “Here it is, Sire; come and take it!” With outstretched arms she stood before him; her cheeks aglow with blushes, her bosom wildly heaving. Wistfully he regarded her for a moment, then thrust out his hand to seize the letter, plainly visible beneath the gauzy covering. One glance from her flashing eye, and the King, crimson to the temples, drew back; irresistibly impelled, he advanced again and once more retreated, then with a look of baffled fury shouted, “Now I _know_ you are a traitress!” and rushed from the gallery. CHAPTER XXXV. AT VAL DE GRÂCE.