"For that I can answer," replied the Bishop. "The only disagreeable thing you will find here is a want of food," he added, laughing, "for the palace swallows up all; but if you will honour me by supping with me to-night, Monsieur le Comte, perhaps Monsieur Pelisson will join us, with one or two others, and we may spend a calm and pleasant evening, in talking over such things as chance or choice may select. We do so often in my poor abode. But indeed I forgot; perhaps you may prefer going to the theatre at the palace, for this is one of the nights when a play is performed there." "No, indeed," replied the Count. "I hold myself not only flattered, but obliged, by your invitation, Monsieur de Meaux, and I will not fail to be with you at any hour you appoint." The hour was accordingly named; and, taking his leave, the young Count de Morseiul sought his horses, and returned to Paris. His visit to Versailles, indeed, had not been so satisfactory as he could have wished; and while Jerome Riquet was making all the preparations for his master's change of abode, the Count himself leaned his head upon his hand, and revolved in deep thought all the bearings of his present situation. No one knew better than he did, that appearances are but little to be trusted at any court, and as little as in any other at the court of Louis XIV. He knew that the next word from the King's mouth might be an order to conduct him to the Bastille, and that very slight proofs of guilt would be required to change his adherence to his religion, if not into a capital crime, at least into a pretext for dooming him to perpetual imprisonment. He saw, also, though perhaps not to the full extent of the King's design, that Louis entertained some hopes of his abandoning his religion; and he doubted not that various efforts would be employed to induce him to do so--efforts difficult to be parried, painful to him to be the object of, and which might, perhaps, afford matter for deep offence if they, proved ineffectual. He saw, and he knew too, that it was decidedly the resolution of the King and of his advisers to put down altogether the Protestant religion in France; that there was no hope, that there was no chance of mitigating, in any degree, the unchangeable spirit of intolerance. All these considerations urged the young Count to pursue a plan which had suggested itself at first to his mind, rather as the effect of despair than of calculation. It was to go back no more to Versailles; to return post-haste to Poitou; to collect with all speed the principal Protestants who might be affected by any harsh measures of the court; to demand of Clémence de Marly the fulfilment of her promise to fly with him; and, embarking with the rest at the nearest port, to seek safety and peace in another land.