When next the King visited La Vallière, Madame de Montespan was present. She was as plainly dressed as was consistent with etiquette. At first she said little, sat apart, and only spoke when the King addressed her. But afterwards, gradually feeling her way, she threw in the most adroit flattery, agreed with all he said, yet appeared to defer in everything to La Vallière. Sometimes she amused him by her follies, and brought with her a team of mice she had tamed and harnessed to a little car of filigree, to run upon a table; sometimes she astonished both La Vallière and the King by her acute observation, her daring remarks, and pungent satire. The King's visits to the Hôtel Biron became longer and more frequent. If Madame de Montespan was not there he asked for her, and expressed regret at her absence. The Comtesse du Roule inquired anxiously of La Vallière if Madame de Montespan was useful to her. Reports had reached her which made her uneasy. It was said that this beautiful young friend, whom she had so unwittingly introduced to La Vallière, had designs of her own upon the King; and that she openly boasted that she would speedily supplant the Duchess. Madame du Roule had also heard that Monsieur de Montespan had appeared at the Queen's circle dressed entirely in black, and that on being asked by the King for what relative he wore such deep mourning, had replied— "For my wife, Sire." La Vallière laughed at this story, and would not listen to a syllable against her new friend. CHAPTER XXII. BROKEN-HEARTED. It was evening. The day had been intensely hot. Now, stormy clouds scud across the western skies, and the sun sets in a yellow haze, which lights up the surrounding woods. Groups of stately elms that tuft the park cast deep shadows upon the grass; their huge branches sway to and fro in the rising wind, which moans among the thickets of laurels and lilacs separating the grounds of the Hôtel Biron from the royal gardens of Versailles. Louise la Vallière sat alone in a gorgeous boudoir lined with mirrors and gilding. She was engaged on some embroidery. As she stooped over the frame on which her work was strained, her countenance bore that resigned and plaintive expression habitual to it. She was still graceful and pretty, and her simple attire gave her the appearance of a girl. As the failing light warned her that night was approaching, she put aside her work, seated herself beside an alcoved window which opened upon a terrace, and listened to the wind, each moment growing more boisterous among the neighbouring forests that topped the hills towards Saint-Cloud.