The king offered his arm to Mademoiselle de Mancini, and made a sign to the coachman and lackeys to proceed. It was nearly six o’clock; the road was fresh and pleasant; tall trees with their foliage still inclosed in the golden down of their buds, let the dew of morning filter from their trembling branches, like liquid diamonds; the grass was bursting at the foot of the hedges; the swallows having returned only a few days since, described their graceful curves between the heavens and the water; a breeze, laden with the perfumes of the blossoming woods, sighed along the road, and wrinkled the surface of the waters of the river; all these beauties of the day, all these perfumes of the plants, all these aspirations of the earth towards heaven, intoxicated the two lovers, walking side by side, leaning upon each other, eyes fixed upon eyes, hand clasping hand, and who, lingering as by a common desire, did not dare to speak, they had so much to say. The officer saw that the king’s horse, in wandering this way and that, annoyed Mademoiselle de Mancini. He took advantage of the pretext of securing the horse to draw near them, and dismounting, walked between the two horses he led; he did not lose a single word or gesture of the lovers. It was Mademoiselle de Mancini who at length began. “Ah, my dear sire!” said she, “you do not abandon me, then?” “No, Marie,” replied the king; “you see I do not.” “I had so often been told, though, that as soon as we should be separated you would no longer think of me.” “Dear Marie, is it then to-day only that you have discovered we are surrounded by people interested in deceiving us?” “But then, sire, this journey, this alliance with Spain? They are going to marry you off!” Louis hung his head. At the same time the officer could see the eyes of Marie de Mancini shine in the sun with the brilliancy of a dagger starting from its sheath. “And you have done nothing in favor of our love?” asked the girl, after a silence of a moment. “Ah! mademoiselle, how could you believe that? I threw myself at the feet of my mother; I begged her, I implored her; I told her all my hopes of happiness were in you; I even threatened—” “Well?” asked Marie, eagerly. “Well, the queen-mother wrote to the court of Rome, and received as answer, that a marriage between us would have no validity, and would be dissolved by the holy father. At length, finding there was no hope for us, I requested to have my marriage with the infanta at least delayed.” “And yet that does not prevent your being on the road to meet her?” “How can I help it? To my prayers, to my supplications, to my tears, I received no answer but reasons of state.” “Well, well?” “Well, what is to be done, mademoiselle, when so many wills are leagued against me?”