"In short, Louis, my aching limbs are already in the grave. I have done ail in my power to protect the institutions in my charge. I have subjugated my convictions, my reason, my skepticism, in order to be true to the trust confided to me. With my right hand I have restrained the Revolution; with my left the excesses of an imbecile and sanguinary Reaction. Lecazes has aided me and aids me. But Louis, my heir, if you falter, I shall contend no longer, even tho the monarchy perish. In vain will you have combatted at the pass of Ivon, at Ravenheim and afterwards, beside the unfortunate Eugene. Bah! The hardest battles are these of state, my son." The Duke was moved. When the King discarded his habitual raillery, he evinced genuine majesty. Almost subjugated, he knelt at his uncle's feet, saying: "What can I do for the monarchy, for God? I am willing to give my life, if necessary." "Much less than that is required," replied the King, affectionately. "All that I ask is that you act the part of an affectionate husband, which you are; that you treat your wife tenderly, passionately--" "To what end, Sire?" "Lecazes will inform you, for I am greatly fatigued. I must be careful of my forces, as tomorrow will be Wednesday and the Countess Cayla will be here to make some hours heaven to me." Chapter IV CONJUGAL LOVE That evening at the customary hour for lighting the lamps in the various apartments of the royal palace, the ladies in waiting to Madame the Duchess were surprised to see her accompanied by her husband on leaving the table. As the august pair entered the Duchess's apartments, the attendants discreetly withdrew and the lady motioned the Duke to a seat; but he, with unaccustomed gallantry, hastened to place himself beside her on the sofa and with the precipitation characteristic of a limited experience in conjugal affectionate demonstration, seized both her hands and effusively began: "Thérèse, do you remember what anniversary it is tomorrow? The tenth of June, our marriage day?" "Indeed?" she replied. "How slowly time passes." "To me it seems as tho we had been married yesterday. 'Twas in the little chapel of Mittau. Listen, Thérèse: I fear at times that I have not made you happy. Am I mistaken? You treat me so distantly." "I have been--happy," she stammered. "You know that it is not in my nature to be violently so." "The time of mourning has passed," he said, kissing her slender patrician hands. "Look back no longer. Those who have suffered as much as we have a right to happiness." Her face flushed as his warmth increased. "To live and rejoice!" she sighed. "That is not my destiny, nor yours, Louis. We have greater trials in store. I feel their approach. I told you this morning that we have not sufficiently expiated."