"Louise, Louise, I implore you! whatever you desire, whatever you command, whether vengeance or forgiveness, your slightest wish shall be obeyed, but do not abandon me." "Alas! sire, we must part." "You do not love me, then!" "Heaven knows I do!" "It is false, Louise; it is false." "Oh! sire, if I did not love you I should let you do what you please: I should let you revenge me, in return for the insult which has been inflicted on me; I should accept the sweet triumph to my pride which you propose: and yet, you cannot deny, that I reject even the sweet compensation which your affection affords, that affection, which for me is life itself, for I wished to die when I thought that you loved me no longer." "Yes, yes: I now know, I now perceive it; you are the holiest, the best, the purest of women. There is no one so worthy as yourself, not alone of my own respect and devotion, but also of the respect and devotion of all who surround me: and therefore shall no one be loved like yourself: no one shall ever possess the influence over me that you wield. You wish me to be calm, to forgive: be it so, you shall find me perfectly unmoved. You wish to reign by gentleness and clemency, I will be clement and gentle. Dictate to me the conduct you wish me to adopt, and I will obey blindly." "In Heaven's name, no, sire; what am I, a poor girl, to dictate to so great a monarch as yourself?" "You are my life, the very spirit and principle of my being. Is it not the spirit that rules the body?" "You love me, then, sire?" "On my knees, yes; with my hands upraised to you, yes; with all the strength and power of my being, yes; I love you so deeply that I would happily lay down my life for you, at your merest wish." "Oh! sire, now that I know you love me, I have nothing to wish for in the whole world. Give me your hand, sire; and then farewell! I have enjoyed in this life all the happiness which I was destined to meet with." "Oh! no, no! your happiness is not a happiness of yesterday, it is of to-day, of to-morrow, ever-enduring. The future is yours, everything which is mine is yours too. Away with these ideas of separation, away with these gloomy, despairing thoughts. You will live for me, as I will live for you, Louise." And he threw himself at her feet, embracing her knees with the wildest transports of joy and gratitude. "Oh! sire, sire! all that is but a wild dream." "Why a wild dream?" "Because I cannot return to the court. Exiled, how can I see you again? Would it not be far better to bury myself in a cloister for the rest of my life, with the rich consolation that your affection gives me, with the latest pulses of your heart beating for me, and your latest confession of attachment still ringing in my ears?" "Exiled, you!" exclaimed Louis XIV., "and who dares to exile, let me ask, when I recall?"