"You see," said the king, "that I am right in accusing you; you must admit that you are changeable, capricious, a coquette, perhaps." "Oh, no! sire, be perfectly satisfied on that. No, I say again; no, no!" "Promise me, then, that for me you will always be the same." "Oh! always, sire." "That you will never show any of that severity which would break my heart, none of that fickleness of manner which would be worse than death to me." "Oh! no, no." "Very well, then! but listen. I like promises, I like to place under the guarantee of an oath, under the protection of Heaven in fact, everything which interests my heart and my affections. Promise me, or rather swear to me, that if in the life we are about to commence, a life which will be full of sacrifice, mystery, anxiety, disappointment and misunderstanding; swear to me that if we should be deceiving, or should misunderstand each other, or should be judging each other unjustly, for that indeed would be criminal in love such as ours; swear to me, Louise--" She trembled with agitation to the very depths of her heart; it was the first time she had heard her name pronounced in that manner by her royal lover. As for the king, taking off his glove, and placing his ungloved hand within the carriage, he continued: "Swear that never in all our quarrels will we allow one night even to pass by, if any misunderstanding should arise between us, without a visit, or at least a message, from either, in order to convey consolation and repose to the other." La Valliere took her lover's burning hand between her own icy palms, and pressed it softly, until a movement of the horse, frightened by the proximity of the wheels, obliged her to abandon her happiness. She had sworn as he wished her. "Return, sire," she said, "return to the queen: I foresee a storm rising yonder which threatens my peace of mind." Louis obeyed, saluted Mademoiselle de Montalais, and set off at a gallop to rejoin the queen's carriage. As he passed Monsieur's carriage, he observed that he was fast asleep, although Madame, on her part, was wide awake. As the king passed her, she said, "What a beautiful horse, sire! is it not Monsieur's bay horse?" The young queen merely remarked, "Are you better now, sire?" CHAPTER XXX. TRIUMFEMINATE. On the king's arrival in Paris, he sat at the council which had been summoned, and worked for a certain portion of the day. The queen remained with the queen-mother, and burst into tears as soon as she had taken leave of the king. "Ah! madame!" she said, "the king no longer loves me! What will become of me?" "A husband always loves his wife when she is like you," replied Anne of Austria. "A time may come when he will love another woman instead of me." "What do you call loving?" "Always thinking of a person--always seeking her society." "Do you happen to have remarked," said Anne of Austria, "that the king has ever done anything of the sort?" "No, madame," said the young queen, hesitatingly.