At the court balls of that day it was the custom to dance throughout the night with one person, and the opportunity of conversing between those who were dancing was very small. A few brief words at the commencement, or at the end of each dance, was all that could be hoped for, and Clémence and her lover were fain to fix all their hopes of explanation and of longer intercourse upon the morrow. Suddenly, however, it was announced, before the hour at which the balls usually terminated, that the King had a lottery, to which all the married ladies of the court were invited. The crowd poured into the apartment where the drawing of this lottery was to take place; every lady anxious for a ticket where all were prizes, and the tickets themselves given by the King; while those who were not to share in this splendid piece of generosity, were little less eager, desirous of seeing the prizes, and learning who it was that won them. All then, as we have said, poured out of the ball room, through the great gallery and other state-rooms in which the _appartement_ was usually held. There were only two who lingered--Clémence de Marly and Albert of Morseiul. They, however, remained to the last, and then followed slowly, employing the few minutes thus obtained in low spoken words of affection, perhaps all the warmer and all the tenderer for the coldness and the pain just passed. Ere three sentences, however, had been uttered, the good Duc de Rouvré approached, saying, "Come, Clémence, come quick, or you will not find a place where you will see." The eye of the Prince de Marsillac, however, was upon them; and, threading the mazes of the crowd, he took the Duke by the arm; and, drawing him aside with an important face, told him that the King wanted to speak with him immediately. The Duc de Rouvré darted quickly away to seek the monarch: and the Prince paused for a single instant ere he followed, to say in a low voice to the Count,-- "You will neither of you be required at the lottery, if you think that the lot you have drawn already is sufficiently good." The Count was not slow to understand the hint, and he gently led Clémence de Marly back into one of the vacant saloons. "Surely they will think it strange," she said; but ere the Count could reply, she added quickly; "but, after all, what matters it if they do?--I would have it so, that every one may see and know the whole so clearly, that all persecution may be at an end. Now, Albert, now," she said, "tell me what could make you write me so cruel a letter." "I will in one word," he replied; "but remember, Clémence, that I own I have been wrong, and in telling you the causes, in explaining the various circumstances which led me to believe that you were wavering in your engagements to me, I seek not to justify myself, but merely to explain."