"Not now,—not now," murmured he, in a faltering voice; "I dare not; it would require too long an explanation,—we might be interrupted," and he turned and glanced at the scene behind him,—at Anne of Austria, blazing with diamonds, radiant with regal beauty, her silvery laugh surmounting the hum of conversation. He saw the brilliant crowd that thronged around her where she sat. Great princes, illustrious ministers, historic nobles, chivalric soldiers, grave diplomatists, stately matrons, ministers of state, her ladies in waiting, and the five other maids of honour, in the glory of golden youth. He saw the dazzling lights, the fluttering feathers, the gorgeous robes, the sparkling jewels, standing out from the painted walls,—all the glamour of a luxurious Court. Then he gazed at the sweet face of the lonely girl whose loving eyes were bent upon him awaiting his reply,—his soul sank within him. "Would to God I were not King of France," he exclaimed abruptly, following the tenor of his thoughts. Then, seeing her wonder at his sudden outburst, he added, "The favour I ask of you shall be made known to you in writing. This evening you shall receive a letter from me; but,"—and he drew closer to her and spoke almost fiercely,—"remember you have pledged yourself to me—you cannot, you dare not withdraw your word. If you do,"—and an agonised look came into his face,—"you will drive me to madness." Saying these words, he suddenly disappeared. She was again left standing alone on the balcony. Louise de Lafayette was startled, but not alarmed. The notion that the King was capable of making any indecorous proposition to her never for a moment occurred to her; at the same time she felt the utmost curiosity to know what this secret might be. She formed a thousand different conjectures, each further than the other from the truth. On entering her room at night, she found a letter from the King. She hastily tore it open and read as follows:—