"Louise," she said to her, "I want to talk to you, and seriously, too." "Good heavens! my dear Aure, what is the matter now?" "The matter is that Madame suspects everything." "Explain yourself." "Is there any occasion for us to enter into explanations, and do you not understand what I mean? Come, you must have noticed the fluctuations in Madame's humor during several days past; you must have noticed how she first kept you close beside her, then dismissed you, and then sent for you again." "Yes, I have noticed it, of course." "Well, it seems that Madame has now succeeded in obtaining sufficient information, for she has now gone straight to the point, as there is nothing further left in France to withstand the torrent which sweeps away all obstacles before it; you know what I mean by the torrent?" La Valliere hid her face in her hands. "I mean," continued Montalais, pitilessly, "that torrent which has burst through the gates of the Carmelites of Chaillot, and overthrown all the prejudices of the court, as well at Fontainebleau as at Paris." "Alas! alas!" murmured La Valliere, her face still covered by her hands, and her tears streaming through her fingers. "Oh, don't distress yourself in that manner, for you have only heard half of your troubles." "In Heaven's name," exclaimed the young girl, in great anxiety, "what is the matter?" "Well, then, this is how the matter stands; Madame, who can no longer rely upon any further assistance in France; for she has, one after the other, made use of the two queens, of Monsieur, and the whole court too, now bethinks herself of a certain person who has certain pretended rights over you." La Valliere became white as a marble statue. "This person," continued Montalais, "is not in Paris at this moment; but, if I am not mistaken, is in England." "Yes, yes," breathed La Valliere, almost overwhelmed with terror. "And is to be found, I think, at the court of Charles II.; am I right?" "Yes." "Well, this evening a letter has been dispatched by Madame to Saint James's, with directions for the courier to go straight on to Hampton Court, which, I believe, is one of the royal residences, situated about a dozen miles from London." "Yes; well?" "Well: as Madame writes regularly to London once a fortnight, and as the ordinary courier left for London not more than three days ago, I have been thinking that some serious circumstance could alone have induced her to write again so soon, for you know she is a very indolent correspondent." "Yes." "This letter has been written, therefore, something tells me so, at least, on your account." "On my account?" repeated the unhappy girl, mechanically. "And I, who saw the letter lying on Madame's desk before she sealed it, fancied I could read--" "What did you fancy you could read?" "I might possibly have been mistaken, though--" "Tell me--what was it?" "The name of Bragelonne." La Valliere rose hurriedly from her chair, a prey to the most painful agitation.