"For myself," he says meekly, "my only pleasure is in the service of his Majesty. I am fit for nothing else." As he speaks his dejected look sends a pang to her heart. "If I leave his Majesty, it will be——" he stops, Mademoiselle listens breathlessly—"it will be to enter a monastery. Nothing but my attachment to my royal master restrains me." "Blessed Virgin!" ejaculates Mademoiselle, clasping her hands. "Who could have believed it?" "I shall never marry," continues Lauzun. He hangs down his head, apparently overcome with despondency. "How?—Why?" demands Mademoiselle eagerly. "For what reason?" "Marriage has often been proposed to me, your highness, but there are insurmountable difficulties." "Name them, I entreat you," she cries imperiously. "My wife, madame, must be a paragon of virtue, or I should murder her. I dread the morals of the Court. Not the wealth of the Indies would tempt me to marry and to doubt. I would not unite myself to a princess of the blood, under such conditions." "Noble heart!" exclaims Mademoiselle aside. "You can very easily find the virtuous lady you seek," she adds aloud, in a voice tremulous with suppressed passion. She turns towards Lauzun, and for a moment touches his hand which lies close to her own. "My choice is made," she adds resolutely. "I shall announce it to his Majesty to-morrow." "For heaven's sake, forbear!" exclaims Lauzun, with real earnestness, starting to his feet; "you make me tremble. You must say nothing. It concerns my honour, madame," and he smote upon his breast. Mademoiselle turns her glowing eyes upon him. "My honour as your adviser, madame, I mean," adds Lauzun, correcting himself and speaking in an altered tone. But all his self-command could not wholly conceal the triumph he felt at having so successfully acted his part. "As your adviser, madame, I forbid you to speak to the King. The time is not yet come. (I hold her," he says to himself, "she is mine!") At this moment a page enters and desires him to join his Majesty, who is walking up and down in the quadrangle with some gentlemen. Mademoiselle is as much at a loss as ever to make Lauzun understand her. Just as a crisis approaches, they are always interrupted. She longs to ask him why she should not tell the King? Once or twice she tried to do so, but Lauzun invariably turned the conversation into such a channel as effectually silenced Mademoiselle, who spite of her pride was easily abashed. At last she hits upon an expedient. "I have the name of my intended written on this slip of paper, Monsieur de Lauzun," she says, and she offers him a sealed note at their next meeting. Lauzun draws back, stares at her, and frowns. "I do not wish to take the note, madame. I feel that it forebodes me misfortune, my heart beats so violently." Still he stretches out his hand and takes the paper which she offers.