“Put these letters away, Louvois.  The last one has made up for all the rest.  But these rascals shall smart for it, all the same.  By-the-way, there is that young nephew to whom madame wrote.  Gerard d’Aubigny is his name, is it not?”

“Yes, sire.”

“Make him out a colonel’s commission, and give him the next vacancy, Louvois.”

“A colonel, sire!  Why, he is not yet twenty.”

“Ay, Louvois.  Pray, am I the chief of the army, or are you?  Take care, Louvois!  I have warned you once before.  I tell you, man, that if I choose to promote one of my jack-boots to be the head of a brigade, you shall not hesitate to make out the papers.  Now go into the ante-room, and wait with the other witnesses until you are wanted.”

There had meanwhile been busy goings-on in the small room where the red lamp burned in front of the Virgin.  Francoise de Maintenon stood in the centre, a little flush of excitement on her cheeks, and an unwonted light in her placid gray eyes.  She was clad in a dress of shining white brocade, trimmed and slashed with silver serge, and fringed at the throat and arms with costly point lace.  Three women, grouped around her, rose and stooped and swayed, putting a touch here and a touch there, gathering in, looping up, and altering until all was to their taste.

“There!” said the head dressmaker, giving a final pat to a rosette of gray silk; “I think that will do, your Majes—­that is to say, madame.”

The lady smiled at the adroit slip of the courtier dressmaker.

“My tastes lean little towards dress,” said she, “yet I would fain look as he would wish me to look.”

“Ah, it is easy to dress madame.  Madame has a figure.  Madame has a carriage.  What costume would not look well with such a neck and waist and arm to set it off?  But, ah, madame, what are we to do when we have to make the figure as well as the dress?  There was the Princess Charlotte Elizabeth.  It was but yesterday that we cut her gown.  She was short, madame, but thick.  Oh, it is incredible how thick she was!  She uses more cloth than madame, though she is two hand-breadths shorter.  Ah, I am sure that the good God never meant people to be as thick as that.  But then, of course, she is Bavarian and not French.”

But madame was paying little heed to the gossip of the dressmaker.  Her eyes were fixed upon the statue in the corner, and her lips were moving in prayer—­prayer that she might be worthy of this great destiny which had come so suddenly upon her, a poor governess; that she might walk straight among the pitfalls which surrounded her upon every side; that this night’s work might bring a blessing upon France and upon the man whom she loved.  There came a discreet tap at the door to break in upon her prayer.

“It is Bontems, madame,” said Mademoiselle Nanon.  “He says that the king is ready.”

“Then we shall not keep him waiting.  Come, mademoiselle, and may God shed His blessing upon what we are about to do!”