"Ah!" shrieked Madame de Montespan, agonised with pain. She stopped, and leant against the wall for support. A look of real terror came into her face. She turned appealingly toward Lauzun, who stood before her glaring with passion, then, overcome by pain and fright, she staggered, and fainting, or affecting to faint, fell heavily upon the pavement. There Lauzun left her. Without calling for help, he strode rapidly down the grand staircase, and disappeared. CHAPTER XXVI. SIGNING THE MARRIAGE CONTRACT. A day is at length fixed. The contract between Mademoiselle and Lauzun is to be signed at the Luxembourg Palace. Mademoiselle arrays herself in the white robe of an affianced bride. Lauzun is beside her. He is ostentatiously humble; indeed, he had never been thoroughly civil to her before. As he enters the boudoir in her private suite of apartments, he salutes her with his grandest air, and kisses her hand. Mademoiselle cannot take her eyes off him. Her senile transports are ridiculous; Lauzun feels that they are. A table is placed in the centre of the room; at this table sits Boucherat, notary to her royal highness. He is dressed in the quaint clerical robe, white bands, and short wig that still distinguished his profession in France. The marriage contract, of portentous size, lies open on the table before him. Boucherat, a tall spare man, with a singularly doleful expression of countenance, looks discomposed, coughs several times, then, finding that no one attends to him, looks up. Mademoiselle is talking eagerly with Lauzun. "Your royal highness—" begins Boucherat, hesitating. "Will you permit me to address you, madame?" he adds in a louder tone, finding Mademoiselle pays no attention to him. "What is it, my good Boucherat?" asks Mademoiselle, turning round at last towards him. Boucherat rises to his feet. He bows, standing on the tips of his toes, then folds his arms. He is purple in the face, and appears to be suffering acutely, especially as, suddenly unfolding his arms, he rubs them violently together. Lauzun laughs. Mademoiselle cannot altogether command her countenance. "I have known your royal highness from a child," says Boucherat hurriedly, as though speaking between spasms of pain. "I have had the honour of serving your illustrious father, Gaston, Duc d'Orléans, as notary before your birth—exalted lady." Here Boucherat stops, gasps as if going into a fit, wipes his forehead with his handkerchief, and adjusts his wig. Lauzun roars with laughter, and Mademoiselle contemplates the notary with silent amazement.