And so now, when brown dusk is falling through the windows, and no end visible, his Majesty, on hint of Garde-des-Sceaux, Lamoignon, opens his royal lips once more to say, in brief That he must have his Loan-Edict registered.—Momentary deep pause!—See! Monseigneur d’Orléans rises; with moon-visage turned towards the royal platform, he asks, with a delicate graciosity of manner covering unutterable things: ‘Whether it is a Bed of Justice, then; or a Royal Session?’ Fire flashes on him from the throne and neighbourhood: surly answer that ‘it is a Session.’ In that case, Monseigneur will crave leave to remark that Edicts cannot be registered by _order_ in a Session; and indeed to enter, against such registry, his individual humble Protest. ‘_Vous êtes bien le maître_ (You will do your pleasure)’, answers the King; and thereupon, in high state, marches out, escorted by his Court-retinue; D’Orléans himself, as in duty bound, escorting him, but only to the gate. Which duty done, D’Orléans returns in from the gate; redacts his Protest, in the face of an applauding Parlement, an applauding France; and so—has _cut_ his Court-moorings, shall we say? And will now sail and drift, fast enough, towards Chaos? Thou foolish D’Orléans; Equality that art to be! Is Royalty grown a mere wooden Scarecrow; whereon thou, pert scald-headed crow, mayest alight at pleasure, and peck? Not yet wholly. Next day, a Lettre-de-Cachet sends D’Orléans to bethink himself in his Château of Villers-Cotterets, where, alas, is no Paris with its joyous necessaries of life; no fascinating indispensable Madame de Buffon,—light wife of a great Naturalist much too old for her. Monseigneur, it is said, does nothing but walk distractedly, at Villers-Cotterets; cursing his stars. Versailles itself shall hear penitent wail from him, so hard is his doom. By a second, simultaneous Lettre-de-Cachet, Goody Fréteau is hurled into the Stronghold of Ham, amid the Norman marshes; by a third, Sabatier de Cabre into Mont St. Michel, amid the Norman quicksands. As for the Parlement, it must, on summons, travel out to Versailles, with its Register-Book under its arm, to have the Protest _biffé_ (expunged); not without admonition, and even rebuke. A stroke of authority which, one might have hoped, would quiet matters.