“Here is my sword, monsieur. Will you now please to announce me to his majesty?” “Instantly, sire.” And the officer immediately went and knocked at the door of communication, which the valet opened to him. “His Majesty the King of England!” said the officer. “His Majesty the King of England!” replied the valet de chambre. At these words a gentleman opened the folding-doors of the king’s apartment, and Louis XIV. was seen, without hat or sword, and his pourpoint open, advancing with signs of the greatest surprise. “You, my brother—you at Blois!” cried Louis XIV., dismissing with a gesture both the gentlemen and the valet de chambre, who passed out into the next apartment. “Sire,” replied Charles II., “I was going to Paris, in the hope of seeing your majesty, when report informed me of your approaching arrival in this city. I therefore prolonged my abode here, having something very particular to communicate to you.” “Will this closet suit you, my brother?” “Perfectly well, sire; for I think no one can hear us here.” “I have dismissed my gentleman and my watcher; they are in the next chamber. There, behind that partition, is a solitary closet, looking into the ante-chamber, and in that ante-chamber you found nobody but a solitary officer, did you?” “No, sire.” “Well, then, speak, my brother; I listen to you.” “Sire, I commence, and entreat your majesty to have pity on the misfortunes of our house.” The king of France colored, and drew his chair closer to that of the king of England. “Sire,” said Charles II., “I have no need to ask if your majesty is acquainted with the details of my deplorable history.” Louis XIV. blushed, this time more strongly than before; then, stretching forth his hand to that of the king of England, “My brother,” said he, “I am ashamed to say so, but the cardinal scarcely ever speaks of political affairs before me. Still more, formerly I used to get Laporte, my valet de chambre, to read historical subjects to me; but he put a stop to these readings, and took away Laporte from me. So that I beg my brother Charles to tell me all those matters as to a man who knows nothing.” “Well, sire, I think that by taking things from the beginning I shall have a better chance of touching the heart of your majesty.” “Speak on, my brother—speak on.” “You know, sire, that being called in 1650 to Edinburgh, during Cromwell’s expedition into Ireland, I was crowned at Scone. A year after, wounded in one of the provinces he had usurped, Cromwell returned upon us. To meet him was my object; to leave Scotland was my wish.” “And yet,” interrupted the young king, “Scotland is almost your native country, is it not, my brother?”