“Oh, there is another reason for that,” said the nurse. “He has just passed his first stupid three months, and he begins to hear and see what passes around him, and it was the first man’s face that he had seen. But only look, miss, what a beautiful little dog is coming up the path.” It was indeed a lovely greyhound, of the small Italian race, which came bounding joyfully toward them, and as he saw the woman barked loudly. “Be quiet, Alkmene, be quiet!” cried a loud, commanding voice. “Oh, Heaven! it is the king!” whispered the young lady, turning pale, and, as if stunned, retreated a few steps. “Yes, it is really the king,” cried the nurse, “and he is coming directly from the grass-plot here.” “Let us go as quickly as possible, Louisa. Come, come,” and she hastily threw her mantle around her, drawing the hood over her curly head. She had only proceeded a few steps, when a loud voice bade her to remain--to stand still. She stood as if rooted to the spot, leaning upon her nurse for support; her knees sank under her, and it seemed as if the whole world turned around with her. After the first tumult of anxiety and fear, succeeded an insolent determination, and, forcing herself to calmness, she said: “It is the turning-point of my life; the next few minutes will either crush me or assure my future; let me struggle for the future, then. I will face him who approaches me as my judge.” Forcing herself to composure, slowly and with effort she turned toward the king, who, approaching by the side path, had entered the avenue, and now stood before her. But as she encountered the fiery glance of the king’s eye, she quailed before it, casting down her own, covered with confusion. “Who are you?” demanded the king, with stern authority, keeping his eagle eye fixed upon her. Silent and immovable she stood; only the quick, feverish breathing and the heaving bosom told the storm that was raging within. “Who are you?” repeated the voice, with still more severity--“who permit themselves to use my park as a nursery? What child is that? and who are its parents? They should be of high position at court, who would dare to send their child and nurse to the royal park; and with what joy they must regard the offspring of their conjugal tenderness! Tell me to whom does this child belong?” Sobbing convulsively, the lady sank, kneeling, with uplifted arms, imploring for mercy. “Sire, annihilate me with your anger, but do not crush me with your scorn!” “What language do you permit yourself to hold?” asked the king. “Sire, it is the language of an unhappy, despairing woman, who knows that she stands before that great monarch whose judgment she fears more than that of her God, who sees into her heart, and reads the tortures and reproaches of her conscience; who knows what she suffers, and knows, also, that she is free from self-interest, and every base desire. I believe that God will forgive what I fear your majesty will not.”