“Don’t be afraid, Louise,” said she; “monsieur will no more venture to take it hence than the defunct king Louis XIII. ventured to take billets from the corsage of Mademoiselle de Hautefort.” Raoul blushed at seeing the smile of the two girls; and he did not remark that the hand of Louise remained in his. “There!” said Montalais, “you have pardoned me, Louise, for having brought monsieur to you; and you, monsieur, bear me no malice for having followed me to see mademoiselle. Now, then, peace being made, let us chat like old friends. Present me, Louise, to M. de Bragelonne.” “Monsieur le Vicomte,” said Louise, with her quiet grace and ingenuous smile, “I have the honor to present to you Mademoiselle Aure de Montalais, maid of honor to her royal highness MADAME, and moreover my friend—my excellent friend.” Raoul bowed ceremoniously. “And me, Louise,” said he—“will you not present me also to mademoiselle?” “Oh, she knows you—she knows all!” This unguarded expression made Montalais laugh and Raoul sigh with happiness, for he interpreted it thus: “She knows all our love.” “The ceremonies being over, Monsieur le Vicomte,” said Montalais, “take a chair, and tell us quickly the news you bring flying thus.” “Mademoiselle, it is no longer a secret; the king, on his way to Poitiers, will stop at Blois, to visit his royal highness.” “The king here!” exclaimed Montalais, clapping her hands. “What! are we going to see the court? Only think, Louise—the real court from Paris! Oh, good heavens! But when will this happen, monsieur?” “Perhaps this evening, mademoiselle; at latest, to-morrow.” Montalais lifted her shoulders in a sigh of vexation. “No time to get ready! No time to prepare a single dress! We are as far behind the fashions as the Poles. We shall look like portraits from the time of Henry IV. Ah, monsieur! this is sad news you bring us!” “But, mesdemoiselles, you will be still beautiful!” “That’s no news! Yes, we shall always be beautiful, because nature has made us passable; but we shall be ridiculous, because the fashion will have forgotten us. Alas! ridiculous! I shall be thought ridiculous—I!” “And by whom?” said Louise, innocently. “By whom? You are a strange girl, my dear. Is that a question to put to me? I mean everybody; I mean the courtiers, the nobles; I mean the king.” “Pardon me, my good friend; but as here every one is accustomed to see us as we are—” “Granted; but that is about to change, and we shall be ridiculous, even for Blois; for close to us will be seen the fashions from Paris, and they will perceive that we are in the fashion of Blois! It is enough to make one despair!” “Console yourself, mademoiselle.” “Well, so let it be! After all, so much the worse for those who do not find me to their taste!” said Montalais, philosophically. “They would be very difficult to please,” replied Raoul, faithful to his regular system of gallantry.