princess, presenting to his majesty a fat, fair girl of two-and-twenty, who at a village fete might have been taken for a peasant in Sunday finery, — ”the daughter of my music-mistress.”

The king smiled. Madame had never been able to extract four correct notes from either viol or harpsichord.

“Mademoiselle Aure de Montalais,” continued Madame; “a young lady of rank, and my good attendant.”

This time it was not the king that smiled; it was the young lady presented, because, for the first time in her life, she heard, given to her by Madame, who generally showed no tendency to spoil her, such an honorable qualification.

Our old acquaintance Montalais, therefore, made his majesty a