Madame de Montespan sometimes quitted the king to go and say her prayers. During Lent, she had her bread weighed; at Easter she would on no account have omitted to take the communion. But although this altogether external religion, which was also that which the king practised, does not appear to have been infected with hypocrisy, it is certain, that even at that time, few persons could have been found whose piety was less really resident in the heart. Accustomed to withstand all restrictions, she wished to hold to religion, but only by a thread, and Bossuet felt that this thread would break in his hand as soon as he began to pull it.

Disturbed, almost disheartened, he had notwithstanding, the self-command to betray nothing to the courtiers who were crowding into the great gallery, for everybody had gone in there, and curiosity was at its height. It was still worse when he was seen to direct his steps to Madame de Montespan's apartment. A short time before he had quitted the king, a great movement had taken place in this gallery. The ladies had risen from their seats, the men had ceased walking about; silence had succeeded to the buzz of voices, and immobility to restlessness. Followed by more than twenty persons, a woman had slowly passed through all this crowd, and all eyes were lowered, all heads were bowed. It was the Marquise de Montespan.

She

A short time afterwards another woman appeared. was followed by four attendants. All rose, and saluted her; the only cause and end of his piety is that of his master. Religion becomes very soon a necessity; after having drawn near to God in the eyes of men, it is not at all impossible that you should become really devoted to his service. "Alas! there are no longer any hypocrites!" cried the Abbé Poulle, about the middle of the last century. The expression was strange, but its meaning profound. When there are no more hypocrites, it is because there is no more piety; when there are no more insects to be found, it is because the cold has destroyed them.

but she had not reached the middle of the gallery, before the conversation had already recommenced behind her. This was only the queen.

The

Bossuet found the anti-chamber crowded. He had never before been seen there. Not that he had never visited the marquise, but he had taken care never to come save with the king; he was particular to show that it was not for her he came. king had understood this, and she still better. the astonishment of the occupants of the anti-chamber. But scarcely had he appeared, when a door was opened.

Great then was

"Madame will not receive to-day. She is indisposed."

And away went the courtiers, not without exhausting their conjectures as to the cause of this new incident. Dismissed at the moment when the bishop entered, they could not doubt that it was an arranged thing. They were mistaken. It was accidental. "Announce Monsieur de Condom," he said in a low voice to the valet who was re-entering the apartment.

And as the man hesitated;

"By order of the king," he added.

The valet bowed. A few moments after, both of the folding doors were opened to their full extent, as if for the king in person. But this was not an honor which Bossuet could take to himself. With the words; "By order of the king," were it but a footman, etiquette commanded that he should be received like a prince of the blood; and the princes of the blood themselves made it a point, in such cases, to conduct as far as their antichamber, men whom they would not have deigned even to look at in that of the king.

Madame de Montespan had risen, but without leaving her place. It is unnecessary to add that her indisposition was a fable, unless indeed this name should be given to the uneasiness which agitated her; but in that case, indisposed, would be far

too feeble an expression; she should have been called ill, very ill, for she had suffered horribly, and so much the more, that she had not yet allowed any one to perceive it. It was even for the very purpose of removing all suspicion, that she had gone out a short time previous, in order to re-enter by this gallery, that the curiosity of the courtiers, aroused by the king's ill-humor, might be able to find no alteration in her. But the greater the constraint she had put upon herself, the greater was the necessity that she should at length allow her anguish to have free course.

upon

Besides, in shutting her door to the crowd, she had hoped to re-open it to the king. Still confident, if not in his love, at least in that royal pride upon which she had always practised with such success, she forced herself not to doubt that the king had already found some way of getting out of this difficulty; but what she feared more than all, was the effect which the species of excommunication pronounced against her, would have in the end the mind of her lover. And this was a well-founded apprehension. Great as was the audacity of Louis XIV. in braving public opinion so long as it remained silent, it was equalled by his readiness to become uneasy at all manifestations which might compromise his glory; Madame de Montespan knew he was not the man to hesitate, if he found it seriously and decidedly necessary to choose between her and the dignity of his crown. It was upon this point that she felt the need of being reassured, and her feelings may be imagined, when, in place of the king whom she expected, she heard Bossuet announced, and Bossuet coming by order of the king. By order of the king! In the mouth of a page or a valet, this formula would have been only the preface to a tender and conscling message; in that of Bossuet, it seemed a condemnation in itself.

"Madame," he said.

She had at first reseated herself, with a certain calmness, and

appeared prepared to listen. But suddenly with one of those rapid changes which sometimes alarmed even Louis XIV. himself, she exclaimed;

"When does Mme. de la Vallière make her profession?"

Her voice was harsh and trembling; her eyes had suddenly become fixed and piercing. Bossuet felt himself subdued, at least for the moment; and though he had perfectly comprehended all the despair and sombre irony of these words, he had not the power to let her see that he comprehended, nor to reply otherwise than as to a simple question.

"Towards the end of next month," he said, "or in the beginning of June."

A slight smile curled the lip of the marquise. Her little triumph was more complete than she had ventured to hope. With her biting wit, there was for her no grief or anguish which the success of a sarcasm could not for the moment alleviate.

"And who will preach the sermon ?" she added, in the same tone. "Will it be again the Abbé de Fromentières ?”*

"No, madame."

"And who then?"

"Myself, probably."

"I knew it. And you came to see, did you not, whether there were any means of making this sermon serve for two?"

She had reckoned too much from her first victory. The less one is accustomed to meet with raillery, the more it at first stupefies and embarrasses; endeavor to prolong it, and you will find that a serious man has you at an advantage. Madame de Montespan had not finished her sentence, before Bossuet was avenged; a calm look had been sufficient.

* The Abbé de Fromentières, quite a distinguished orator, had preached in 1674, on the occasion of Madame de la Vallière's taking the nun's habit. The final profession could not take place until after a year of novitiate,

"Madame," he said coldly, "you spoke more truly than you intended; in the midst of the annoyance which I feel, at being forced to broach so delicate a subject to you, you could not bet

ter pave the way for me. Yes, you are right. The contempt with which you and your friends have overwhelmed Mme. de la Vallière, has not been able to open so wide a chasm between you, that any one can fail to perceive what you have in common. Your name is connected and will be connected with all she has done or will do. And this sermon of which you speak to me, what will it be, after all, but a plea against you?"

"And the king, monsieur, the king!"

"You do not understand me. His majesty knows the respect which I have for him; and if I ever should fail in it, which God forbid, it would not be in the pulpit, in presence of the church. No; do not imagine that I have the least idea in the world of arousing the malice of the court by any allusion.* Allusions! Should I find them necessary? Do you not perceive, that it does not depend upon me, whether this discourse be considered

* Bossuet kept his promise perhaps too strictly. Whatever was the indulgence to be observed towards the pious Carmelite, there was some affectation in not saying a word of her past conduct, and in throwing so thick a veil over such public faults. There was accordingly a universal disappointment, and it is probably this to which Madame de Sévigné alludes in writing on the following day to her daughter, that "Monsieur de Condom had not been as god-like as had been expected." (Letter of June 3d, 1675.) The Abbé de Fromentières had been bolder, not only in his discourse, but in his very text. "What man having an hundred sheep," etc. "When he hath found it, he layeth it on his shoulders, rejoicing. And when he cometh home he calleth together his friends and neighbors, saying unto them; 'Rejoice with me, for I have found my sheep which was lost." Luke xv. 4, 5, 6. It is true, that these words occurred in the gospel for the day, but this day had been expressly chosen by the penitent, in order that no one might be surprised at the preacher's taking them for his text.