"I am not conscious, madame," replies the Dauphin, with dignity, "what action of my life justifies such an accusation. If his Majesty desires to reprimand me, as a father, I ask the favour of hearing it from his own lips." "Monseigneur," replies Madame de Maintenon, with affected humility, "it is his Majesty who speaks by my voice. I am less than nothing other than through him. If you desire to know what causes his displeasure, it is that in the magnificent fêtes you give at Choisy he observes that one most important element of society is omitted—an element his Majesty considers essential." "What element, madame?" "That of the Church, your Highness." The Dauphin is suddenly convulsed with a fit of violent laughter. He takes a hasty leave. "The Church at Choisy, _ma foi_!" he says aloud when he has safely passed the anteroom and is well beyond hearing. "My old master Bossuet, and Bourdaloue, and the Versailles Jesuits assisting at midnight fêtes at Choisy—what a notion! I must tell this to Mademoiselle Choin. How she will laugh!" Charlotte de Bavière, second wife of Philippe d'Orléans, brother of the King, hated the "old woman," as she called Madame de Maintenon. She saw through her and despised her. Madame de Maintenon returned her animosity with interest, but she dared not provoke her. There was something about this frank, downright German princess that was not to be trifled with. Whatever her eccentricities might be, they were respected; she was left in peace to drink as much beer and to eat as many _saucissons_ as the peculiarity of her constitution required. In person she was actually repulsive; her pride was a by-word and a jest; but she was a faithful friend and a true wife, and continued to live with her heartless and effeminate husband, Monsieur, in peace. On her son, the Duc de Chartres, afterwards the Regent Orléans, she doted. In her eyes he was perfect. She was either blind or indifferent to his vices. But even he was not exempt from the violence of her temper. When she was told that he had consented to a marriage with Mademoiselle de Blois, daughter of Madame de Montespan, she struck him in the face. Then she flew to the King. The doors of the royal bedchamber are closed by the attendant Swiss, but the angry voices of Charlotte (Madame) and Louis in angry altercation, penetrate into the gallery of the Œil de Bœuf, where the Court awaits the moment of the royal lever. "Sire," Madame is heard to say in her guttural German-French accent, "I am come to forbid the marriage of my son with Mademoiselle de Blois." "How, my sister?" replies the full, deep voice of the King, that voice which usually created so profound an impression on the nerves of those whom he addressed. "Yes, to forbid it. Had your Majesty desired an alliance between my son and a daughter of your consort, Maria Theresa, I should have considered it my duty to submit."