Louis did not vouchsafe an immediate answer. He sent word to his cousin that she had better reflect well upon what she was about to do. But the countenance of the royal Jupiter beamed upon his favourite Lauzun with undiminished warmth, and he was most affectionate to his cousin. Both naturally drew favourable augeries. Mademoiselle was now steeped in the sweets of an acknowledged passion. Lauzun condescended to be gracious, spite of some little eccentricities such as not always approaching her, or even replying to her when she addressed him—eccentricities attributed by her to his great modesty and discretion. Still, the King had not given his consent. One evening his Majesty played late at _écarté_, so late indeed that it was two o'clock, and he was still at the table. Mademoiselle sat nodding on a brocaded fauteuil beside the Queen. She was determined to see every one out, and to speak to her royal cousin. She longed so much to salute her lover Duc de Montpensier; to behold him raised to the Olympian circle that surrounded the family god. She longed for many things; life had of late become a delightful mystery to her. Each day unfolded some link in that delicious chain that bound her for ever to her adored Lauzun! At last the Queen rose. As she passed by she whispered to Mademoiselle—"You must have some very important business with the King to remain so late. I can sit up no longer." "Madame," she replied, rising, "it is a matter of life and death to me. If I succeed it will be announced at the council to-morrow morning." "Well, my cousin," said the poor Queen, who never understood anything that was going on, and was not intended to do so, "I wish you all success. Good night." By-and-by Louis left off playing. He rose, and walked up to Mademoiselle. "What, cousin, you are still here? You did not accompany her Majesty? Do you know the time? It is two o'clock." "Sire, I wish to speak a few words to you." The King yawned, gave a glance towards the door, then leant wearily against the wall. "Excuse me for to-night, cousin," said he; "I am tired." "I shall not be long," urged Mademoiselle; "but do be seated, or I feel I cannot address you properly." "No, I am very well thus. Speak, my cousin. I am all attention." This was an awful moment. Mademoiselle's heart thumped audibly against her side. Her throat became so parched no words would come. "Sire," she began, and her voice failed her. The King watched her; he had seen a good deal of women by this time, and understood their ways. He knew she was about to speak to him of Lauzun, and smiled. "Take time, my cousin," said he graciously; "you are agitated; take time." "Sire," again began poor Mademoiselle—fortunately her voice now came to her, and she continued—"I want to tell you that the resolution I had the honour of submitting to your Majesty respecting the Comte de Lauzun is unshaken. I shall never be happy unless I am his wife."