The king offered Madame his arm, and they both selected, as the center of observation, a bench with a roof of boards and moss, a kind of hut roughly designed by the modest genius of one of the gardeners who had inaugurated the picturesque and fanciful amid the formal style of the gardening of that period. This sheltered retreat, covered with nasturtiums and climbing roses, screened the bench, so that the spectators, insulated in the middle of the lawn, saw and were seen on every side, but could not be heard, without perceiving those who might approach for the purpose of listening. Seated thus, the king made a sign of encouragement to those who were running about; and then, as if he were engaged with Madame in a dissertation upon the butterfly, which he had thrust through with a gold pin and fastened on his hat, said to her, “How admirably we are placed here for conversations.” “Yes, sire, for I wished to be heard by you alone, and yet to be seen by every one.” “And I also,” said Louis. “My note surprised you?” “Terrified me rather. But what I have to tell you is more important.” “It cannot be, sire. Do you know that Monsieur refuses to see me?” “Why so?” “Can you not guess why?” “Ah, Madame! in that case we have both the same thing to say to each other.” “What has happened to you, then?” “You wish me to begin?” “Yes, for I have told you all.” “Well, then, as soon as I returned, I found my mother waiting for me, and she led me away to her own apartments.” “The queen-mother?” said Madame, with some anxiety, “the matter is serious then.” “Indeed it is, for she told me... but, in the first place, allow me to preface what I have to say with one remark. Has Monsieur ever spoken to you about me?” “Often.” “Has he ever spoken to you about his jealousy?” “More frequently still.” “Of his jealousy of me?” “No, but of the Duke of Buckingham and De Guiche.” “Well, Madame, Monsieur’s present idea is a jealousy of myself.” “Really,” replied the princess, smiling archly. “And it really seems to me,” continued the king, “that we have never given any ground--” “Never! at least _I_ have not. But who told you that Monsieur was jealous?” “My mother represented to me that Monsieur entered her apartments like a madman, that he uttered a thousand complaints against you, and--forgive me for saying it--against your coquetry. It appears that Monsieur indulges in injustice, too.” “You are very kind, sire.” “My mother reassured him; but he pretended that people reassure him too often, and that he had had quite enough of it.” “Would it not be better for him not to make himself uneasy in any way?” “The very thing I said.”