This takes place in the morning, at the Queen's lever. Maria Theresa is on her way to mass, accompanied by Mademoiselle, who is in a state of indescribable perturbation. She had seen Lauzun open the note, and read the paper, on which is written the magic words, "_It is you._" This great princess, arrived at a mature age, and as proud as Lucifer, trembles like a leaf during mass, and requires all the restraints of etiquette to hide the tumult of her feelings. After mass the Queen goes to visit the Dauphin, who is ailing. Mademoiselle awaits her return in a gallery outside. Lauzun is there. He leans against the chimney-piece, lost in thought. A bright fire of logs is burning on the hearth. His countenance betrays nothing. He neither seeks nor avoids her. Mademoiselle rubs her hands, advances to the fire and shivers. "I am paralysed with cold," she says, in a soft voice. She bends over the fire. Lauzun bows and retires some steps to make room for her. "I am more paralysed than your highness," he says stiffly, looking round to see that no one is near. His face is inscrutable. "I have read the note you did me the honour to place in my hands. I am not, however, so foolish as to fall into such a snare; your highness is amusing yourself at my expense. You conceal the real name of your intended husband and substitute mine. You do this to mortify me. You are very cruel." He gives her a stealthy look. Mademoiselle staggers backward; she supports herself against a chair. She does not know whether to laugh or cry. Then feeling that the moment so longed for is come, she collects herself and speaks with dignity. "I assure you, Monsieur de Lauzun, the name you have read on that paper, is the name of the man I mean to marry." Lauzun shakes his head incredulously. "Not only so, Monsieur de Lauzun, but I intend immediately informing the King of my intention, unless," adds she, in a tender voice, "you forbid me." She would have liked to have gathered into one glance all the love she felt for him. To have told him her passionate admiration for his person, her respect for his magnanimity in rejecting the splendid position she offered him. She would have liked to do this; but, in the face of such exalted independence, her womanly delicacy takes alarm. She can neither look at him nor utter a single word. "Madame," says Lauzun at length, addressing her with the utmost solemnity, "you have ill recompensed the zeal I have shown for you. Henceforth, I can approach you no more. Great as is my respect for your highness, I cannot permit myself to be exposed to ridicule. You are, madame, making me the butt of the whole Court." Mademoiselle starts violently, then she places her hand upon his arm. "Lauzun," she says, and her voice sinks into a tone of the humblest entreaty, "I beseech you to understand me. My resolution may seem hasty, but your great qualities excuse it. I have made up my mind. I shall ask his Majesty's permission to marry you."