fact, I dread this deep affection which fills my whole being.”

“Oh! sire, you are mistaken,” said La Valliere; “if ever I love, it will be for all my life.”

“If you love, you say,” exclaimed the king; “you do not love now, then?”

She hid her face in her hands.

“You see,” said the king, “that I am right in accusing you; you must admit you are changeable, capricious, a coquette, perhaps.”

“Oh, no! sire, be perfectly satisfied as to that. No, I say again; no, no!”

“Promise me, then, that to me you will always be the same.”