Mademoiselle de Hautefort utters a loud scream. The Queen, her eyes riveted on the Duchess, neither moves nor speaks for some moments. “You have more to say. Speak, Duchess,” she says at last in a low voice. “Nothing whatever has been found--no line, no paper. I took care of that,” and the Duchess smiles faintly. “You have not yet told me all. I must hear it. Conceal nothing,” again insists the Queen. “Alas! it is indeed as you say. The Chancellor”--and her voice falls almost to a whisper--“has express orders under the King’s hand to search your Majesty’s _person_.” “Search an anointed Queen!” exclaims Anne of Austria. “Never!” and she stretches out her arms wildly towards the altar. “Holy Virgin, help me!” she cries. At this moment the sound of many footsteps is heard without in the stone passage, approaching the door. Anne of Austria has risen; she stands in the centre of the oratory; an unwonted fire glows in her eyes, a look of unmistakable command spreads itself over her whole person. Never had she looked more royal than in this moment of extreme humiliation. The Duchess rushes to the door and draws the ponderous bolts. “Now let them come,” cries she, “if they dare!” They all listen in breathless silence. The voice of Laporte, who has returned to his post outside the door, is heard in low but angry altercation. Then he is heard to say, in a loud voice-- “No one can be admitted to her Majesty, save only the King, without her permission.” “We command you in the name of the law. Stand aside!” is the reply. Then another voice speaks:-- “We are the bearers of an order from the King and the Council of State to see her Majesty.” It is the Chancellor’s voice, and his words are distinctly audible within. “I know of no order but from the Queen my mistress. Your Grace shall not pass. If you do, it shall be across my body,” Laporte is heard to reply. “We enter our solemn protest against this breach of the law; but we decline to force her Majesty’s pleasure.” It was still the Chancellor who spoke. Then the sound of receding footsteps told that he was gone. “Where will this end?” asks Anne in a hollow voice, sinking into a chair. The Duchess and Mademoiselle de Hautefort fling their arms round her. “Bear up, Madame, the worst is over. Be only firm; they can prove nothing,” whispers the Duchess. “There is not a tittle of evidence against you.” “Ah, but, my friend, you forget that the King is eager to repudiate me. Mademoiselle de Hautefort knows it from his own lips.”