"Ambion! You have just said the contrary. Did you not give me to understand an instant since, that with a little complaisance, I might be secure, so far as you—”

"Yes; that is what the devil said to you. But you have reflected upon it; you have thought that it would be finer to advance without my aid; that in order for that, you only had to secure my banishment-"

"Well, madame, continue."

"That then, master at length of the king's will-see! the devil is so cunning!-why may he not have whispered the name of Mazarin in your ear, or for all I know, of Richelieu !—"

And once having launched forth, Mme. de Montespan was not a woman to stop before she had expended all her anger.

But of all situations into which we may bring ourselves by talking, there is none more insupportable than when we feel that we are going too far and injuring our cause. We would stop, but we cannot. We must go on; we must finish our sentence, our period; and at each word that we add, we feel that it is a word too much. And thus it was with the poor marquise. Ably managed, this accusation of ambition might have given her some little hold upon Bossuet; but she saw that her exaggerated expressions only resulted in rendering it null, and dispensing Bossuet from even replying to it. A Richelieu under a Louis XIV.! In the midst of all this torrent of words, what she most desired was, that he would interrupt her, even if it were by resentful replies; but he was careful not to do this. When your enemy is rapidly working his own ruin, it would be folly to stop him. Her vehemence went on increasing, and soon it passed all bounds. She repeated in yet stronger terms, all that she had already said; she seized upon Bossuet's first replies, and commented upon and misrepresented them, until at length exhausted, breathless, ashamed of having so ill pleaded such a poor cause,

she burst into tears, and covering her face with her hands, cried; "Unhappy that am!"

4

A violent spirit is always the most easy to subdue, after one of those fits of anger during which it has appeared indomitable. It is in some sort exhausted by the effort to keep itself as long as possible in this state of exaltation. It is not appeased but weakened, and in the first moment when all seems broken within it, it is ready for the first who may come to take possession of it. The occasion was a favorable one for making one last effort.

He approached her and took her hand. She raised her eyes --she was no longer the same person. Surprise and respect had replaced anger.

Then, with a voice still grave, but affectionate and feeling, he said: "You weep; ah! blessed be God, for you are already too calm for me to attribute your tears to anger or despair. Their source is purer, is it not? Let me think so; let me say so. Yes, you have some idea of your misery,-you begin to fathom the abyss. It is frightful. But it was necessary you should. Why not rather to-day than to-morrow? For after all, in spite of your being seduced, dazzled, fascinated, you had enough of good sense remaining, to see that a position like yours, is always, of necessity, precarious and frail. I comprehend, alas! that the public repentance of Mme. de la Vallière has not succeeded in arousing your conscience; but that the king's conduct towards her should not have opened your eyes, that in seeing forsaken, her who was so dear to him, you should not have said to yourself—”

66

'But, monsieur," she interrupted, "what had I time to say to myself? The king loved me, there was the whole thing. Did it ever enter my mind to calculate whether his love would end before mine did?"

"It ended, however, before that of-but we will leave that. And besides"

He hesitated.

“And besides ?” she said, with her eyes fixed inquiringly upon him.

"If the king's love had been regulated by yours-"

"Well?"

"It would have been long ago all over. You do not love the king-you never have loved him—”

"I!" she cried, "I!" But her expression was rather that of inquietude than indignation. Evidently she did not venture to deny it; the eye of Bossuet had penetrated into the very depths of her mind.

"No, madame," he continued, "no, you do not love the king, -or rather,—yes, it is the king, the king of France, the master of twenty millions of men, the homage which surrounds him, the splendor which is reflected upon you-it is this which you loved, and which you still love; but Louis the man, you do not love-"

"She was silent, and cast down her eyes. An inexplicable influence seemed to press upon her; the voice of Bossuet was but the voice of her conscience.

"Thus," he slowly resumed, after a moment's silence, " in trampling the holiest duties under your feet, you have not even the common excuse, of a love too strong to be conquered by honor! But we will speak no more of the past; the world will forget it, and it only rests with you that God should forget it. Now, therefore, listen to me. The king's salvation, yours, and that of so many unfortunates whom you encourage to sin, is in your hands. The king has not yet the resolution to order you to quit the court; retire then of yourself, and the king will bless you for having had pity on his weakness. In seeing you struggle, he will struggle also. Rejoiced to find himself stronger, he cannot but esteem the more her who will have forced him to be so.

Love must have an end some time; perhaps soon; esteem will never end. Decide, Madame, decide-"

She remained motionless. It was a good deal gained to have brought her thus far; but he wanted an answer.

"You are silent," he continued, after a long pause.

"The king awaits me; what shall I say to him? He has begun to feel uneasiness in regard to the state of his soul, and you, -loaded with his favors, will you refuse to recognize them, save in perpetuating by your presence the temptations under which he groans? But no,-that cannot be ;-yet another step, Madame, in heaven's name,-a word,-a single word "

She opened her lips to reply. What would she have said? We cannot tell; perhaps she herself did not know. But a slight noise was heard, and two ladies appeared. It was Madame de Thianges and the Abbess of Fontevrault, the two sisters of Madame de Montespan.

By turning, in order to salute them, Bossuet spared himself the pain of seeing the alteration which their arrival had produced in the physiognomy of her whom he had believed almost subdued,—and whom perhaps, he might have subdued but for this unlooked-for succour. Madame de Thianges was a woman of much levity, incapable of entertaining any scruples in regard to the conduct of her sister.* Madame de Fontevrault had in

*Notwithstanding, like many others, she had had her slight attacks of devotion. Madame de Sevigné relates, (Jan. 5th, 1674,) that she dined with Madame de Thianges, and that a footman having presented a glass of wine to the latter,-" Madame," said the convert gravely, "this man does not yet know that I have become religious." This devotion commenced and terminated like a situation or a charge; the expression become religious, was used as we say become a lawyer, or become a merchant. The principal exterior sign of conversion with women, was to wear no more rouge; the fit over, the rouge resumed its place. "This rouge," says Madame de Sevigné, "is the law and the prophets; it is upon this rouge, that the whole of Christianity turns."

reality some few, but she had determined to seem to hear and see nothing,—and it had become quite a matter of course, to see her displaying her abbess' cross in the saloons of the king's mistress.* The court was their atmosphere, their life, their all; they would have shuddered at the idea of no longer seeing there her who sustained them. It was accordingly not by accident. that they entered their sister's apartment at this moment. They were still ignorant of the affair of the confession; but officious people had hastened to inform them of Bossuet's visit to the Marquise. Although informed of it separately, they had no need of an understanding, in order to arrive at the same moment, with the sole purpose of putting an end to a conversation, which they felt augured no good either to their sister or themselves.

They arrived just in time, as we have seen; and if Bossuet did not immediately perceive the effect produced by their arrival, Madame de Montespan did not leave him in error. He had only to glance at her to see that all was lost, and as she accompanied him out, for he considered it proper to retire,-he said in a low voice,

"Well ?"

"The king is master, Monsieur," she replied, aloud and in a tone of the utmost indifference.

"And I shall make him remember it," he replied, like herself, aloud.

* "People would have been edified by it, if the king had desired;" says Duclos. "She was," says St. Simon, "the most talented of the three sisters, and perhaps, also, the most beautiful. With this was united a rare learning, for she was acquainted with theology and the fathers; she was versed in the Scriptures, and she understood the learned languages. Although she had been made a nun in the most cavalier manner, her regularity in her abbey was exact. Her visits to the court never caused anything to be said against her reputation, save in regard to the singularity of seeing the wearer of such a habit participate in favors of such a nature.”