“My dear sister, you are defending M. de Guiche.” “I, indeed! Ah, sire, I only needed a suspicion from yourself to crown my wretchedness.” “No, madame, no,” returned the king, hurriedly; “do not distress yourself. Nay, you are weeping. I implore you to calm yourself.” She wept, however, and large tears fell upon her hands; the king took one of her hands in his, and kissed the tears away. She looked at him so sadly and with so much tenderness that he felt his heart giving way under her gaze. “You have no kind of feeling, then, for Guiche?” he said, more disturbed than became his character of mediator. “None--absolutely none.” “Then I can reassure my brother in that respect?” “Nothing will satisfy him, sire. Do not believe he is jealous. Monsieur has been badly advised by some one, and he is of nervous disposition.” “He may well be so when you are concerned,” said the king. Madame cast down her eyes, and was silent; the king did so likewise, still holding her hand all the while. Their momentary silence seemed to last an age. Madame gently withdrew her hand, and from that moment, she felt her triumph was certain, and that the field of battle was her own. “Monsieur complains,” said the king, “that you prefer the society of private individuals to his own conversation and society.” “But Monsieur passes his life in looking at his face in the glass, and in plotting all sorts of spiteful things against women with the Chevalier de Lorraine.” “Oh, you are going somewhat too far.” “I only tell you what is true. Do you observe for yourself, sire, and you will see that I am right.” “I will observe; but, in the meantime, what satisfaction can I give my brother?” “My departure.” “You repeat that word,” exclaimed the king, imprudently, as if, during the last ten minutes, such a change had been produced that Madame would have had all her ideas on the subject thoroughly changed. “Sire, I cannot be happy here any longer,” she said. “M. de Guiche annoys Monsieur. Will he be sent away, too?” “If it be necessary, why not?” replied the king, smiling. “Well; and after M. de Guiche--whom, by the by, I shall regret--I warn you, sire.” “Ah, you will regret him?” “Certainly; he is amiable, he has a great friendship for me, and he amuses me.” “If Monsieur were only to hear you,” said the king, slightly annoyed, “do you know I would not undertake to make it up again between you; nay, I would not even attempt it.” “Sire, can you, even now, prevent Monsieur from being jealous of the first person who may approach? I know very well that M. de Guiche is not the first.” “Again I warn you that as a good brother I shall take a dislike to De Guiche.” “Ah, sire, do not, I entreat you, adopt either the sympathies or the dislikes of Monsieur. Remain king; better for yourself and for every one else.” “You jest charmingly, madame; and I can well understand how the people you attack must adore you.”