"I sign here," she says, and she traces her name in a bold, firm hand, "Louise de Montpensier." While she writes, Boucherat digs his hands into his wig, which, pushed to one side, discloses his bald head. Then with a piteous glance at his mistress, he flings his arms wildly into the air. "Alas, alas! would I had died before this! the princedom of Dombes gone—the county of Eu gone! Oh, madame!" "Be silent, madman!" roars Lauzun, "or, _pardieu_, I will throttle you." * * * * * The folding-doors leading into the state apartments are now thrown open. Mademoiselle appears, led by the Comte de Lauzun. These state apartments had been decorated by her grandmother, Marie de' Medici, who had lived in this palace. The walls are ornamented with delicate arabesques, panelled with golden borders, and painted above in compartments. The vaulted ceilings are divided into various designs, executed by Rubens, illustrating the life of his royal mistress. Around hang the effigies of the Medici and the Bourbons, the common ancestors of Marie de' Medici and her granddaughter. Mademoiselle passes round the brilliant circle which forms itself about her, still holding Lauzun by the hand. "Permit me," says she, in her stateliest manner, taking her position at the top of the throne-room under a canopy—"Permit me to present to you my future husband, the Duc de Montpensier. Let me beg all of you in future to address him by that title _only_." The royal princes present and the great personages of the Court bow their acquiescence. The Maréchal de Bellefonds advances and salutes Mademoiselle. "Permit me, madame," says he, addressing her, "to congratulate you in the name of your highness's devoted friends. I desire to thank you especially in the name of the nobility of France, whom I represent, for the honour you are conferring on our order by choosing from amongst us a consort to share your dignity. We esteem Monsieur de Lauzun one of the brightest ornaments of the Court; he is worthy of the proud station for which you have selected him." "I thank you, Maréchal de Bellefonds, and I thank the nobility of France whom you so worthily represent. I thank you from my heart," and Mademoiselle curtseys with royal grace. "No one is so well acquainted as myself with the merit of Monsieur de Lauzun," and she glances proudly at her future husband. "I accept with pleasure the sympathy of his friends." Lauzun bends, and kisses the hand of his affianced wife. Then the Maréchal de Charost steps forth from a glittering crowd of officers. Charost is a captain in the royal body-guard. "I must also thank your highness for the honour you confer on the army of France. My post is now without price; for what would a soldier not give, what sacrifices would he not make, to become the brother-in-arms of the husband of your highness?"