“But the truth about what, sire?”

“About everything.”

La Valliere was just on the point of revealing the truth to the king, her arms made a sudden movement as if they were about to open, but her lips remained silent, and her hands again fell listlessly by her side.

The poor girl had not yet endured sufficient unhappiness to risk the necessary revelation. “I know nothing,” she stammered out.

“Oh!” exclaimed the king, “this is no longer mere coquetry, or caprice, it is treason.”

And this time nothing could restrain him. The impulse of his heart was not sufficient to induce him to turn back, and he darted out of the room with a