We are again at Choisy. Every window is a blaze of light, the terraced garden flashes with millions of coloured lamps. The Dauphin and his consort, the princes and princesses, courtiers, singers, actors, and poets, fill the foreground. Brocade and satin sweep the terraces; cocked hats and feathers, ribbons, lace, plumes, jewels, orders, wave and glitter. There is the sound of laughter and mad jest—joyous music and voluptuous feasting, _petit soupers_ and masked balls, theatricals and concerts. Long flights of marble stairs descend through bosky groves, sweet with the scent of lilac and honeysuckles, to the Seine, on whose grassy banks, illuminated by torches and bonfires, a flotilla of boats are moored under the overhanging woods. If the essence of all the fêtes given in France was concentrated, the result would be Choisy before the Revolution. In the hands of Monseigneur it is a miniature court, rivalling what Versailles was; a court where youth, joy, and beauty reign supreme. Louis, now old, desires that all the world should be old likewise—fast, pray, confess, and hear sermons like himself. Choisy is a scandal to him. The Dauphin receives orders to quit, and take up his abode at Meudon. Monseigneur, a short, stout, thick-set man, with a fair complexion, and what would have been handsome features had his nose not been broken, appears before Madame de Maintenon, the real ruler of France. She is seated in her apartments, working as usual at her tapestry. She does not rise at his entrance, and her aspect is severe and repellant. "Madame," says the Dauphin, seating himself at a gesture she makes, "can you explain to me what motive has induced his Majesty to banish me from my favourite residence at Choisy?" Madame de Maintenon does not raise her eyes from her work. "Banishment you call it, Monseigneur; you mistake the term. Not banishment, simply a change of abode designed for your good, by his Majesty, your august father." "For my good? surely I am of an age to judge for myself! If I cannot live where I please, I am under arrest. I am not aware in what I have merited the royal displeasure." "Observe, Monseigneur le Dauphin," answers the Marquise, fixing her black eyes upon him, "the King feels no displeasure; on the contrary, he desires your more constant presence at his Court, near his person." The Marquise spoke these words with special emphasis. "Madame, I am most grateful for the amiable manner in which you express his Majesty's flattering wish, but might not some plan be found to unite my presence at Court with my residence at Choisy?" "Impossible, your highness. In a monarchy there can be but one sovereign. The Court must surround that sovereign. Now, permit me to observe, there are two courts, and something like two sovereigns."