CHAPTER XLIII. THE KING’S SECRET.
On his way Louis met the Comte de Saint-Aignan. “Well, Saint-Aignan,” he inquired, with affected interest, “how is the invalid.”
“Really, sire,” stammered Saint-Aignan, “to my shame, I confess I do not know.”
“What! you do not know?” said the king, pretending to take in a serious manner this want of attention for the object of his predilection.
“Will your majesty pardon me; but I have just met one of our three loquacious wood-nymphs, and I confess that my attention has been taken away from other matters.”
“Ah!” said the king, eagerly, “you have found, then—”
“The one who deigned to speak of me in such advantageous terms; and, having found mine, I was searching for yours, sire, when I had the happiness to meet your majesty.”
“Very well; but Mademoise
