“Laporte,” said the queen, “it is time for his majesty to go to bed.” The king asked to remain up, having, he said, no wish to sleep; but the queen was firm. “Are you not going to-morrow morning at six o’clock, Louis, to bathe at Conflans? I think you wished to do so of your own accord?” “You are right, madame,” said the king, “and I am ready to retire to my room when you have kissed me. Laporte, give the light to Monsieur the Chevalier de Coislin.” The queen touched with her lips the white, smooth brow the royal child presented to her with a gravity which already partook of etiquette. “Go to sleep soon, Louis,” said the queen, “for you must be awakened very early.” “I will do my best to obey you, madame,” said the youthful king, “but I have no inclination to sleep.” “Laporte,” said Anne of Austria, in an undertone, “find some very dull book to read to his majesty, but do not undress yourself.” The king went out, accompanied by the Chevalier de Coislin, bearing the candlestick, and then the queen returned to her own apartment. Her ladies—that is to say Madame de Bregy, Mademoiselle de Beaumont, Madame de Motteville, and Socratine, her sister, so called on account of her sense—had just brought into her dressing-room the remains of the dinner, on which, according to her usual custom, she supped. The queen then gave her orders, spoke of a banquet which the Marquis de Villequier was to give to her on the day after the morrow, indicated the persons she would admit to the honor of partaking of it, announced another visit on the following day to Val-de-Grace, where she intended to pay her devotions, and gave her commands to her senior valet to accompany her. When the ladies had finished their supper the queen feigned extreme fatigue and passed into her bedroom. Madame de Motteville, who was on especial duty that evening, followed to aid and undress her. The queen then began to read, and after conversing with her affectionately for a few minutes, dismissed her. It was at this moment D’Artagnan entered the courtyard of the palace, in the coadjutor’s carriage, and a few seconds later the carriages of the ladies-in-waiting drove out and the gates were shut after them. A few minutes after twelve o’clock Bernouin knocked at the queen’s bedroom door, having come by the cardinal’s secret corridor. Anne of Austria opened the door to him herself. She was dressed, that is to say, in _dishabille_, wrapped in a long, warm dressing-gown. “It is you, Bernouin,” she said. “Is Monsieur d’Artagnan there?” “Yes, madame, in your oratory. He is waiting till your majesty is ready.” “I am. Go and tell Laporte to wake and dress the king, and then pass on to the Maréchal de Villeroy and summon him to me.” Bernouin bowed and retired. The queen entered her oratory, which was lighted by a single lamp of Venetian crystal, She saw D’Artagnan, who stood expecting her. “Is it you?” she said. “Yes, madame.” “Are you ready?” “I am.”