But he had found out where they were to be enjoyed.  From the day when De Montespan had introduced the stately and silent widow as a governess for his children, he had found a never-failing and ever-increasing pleasure in her society.  In the early days of her coming he had sat for hours in the rooms of his favourite, watching the tact and sweetness of temper with which her dependent controlled the mutinous spirits of the petulant young Duc du Maine and the mischievous little Comte de Toulouse.  He had been there nominally for the purpose of superintending the teaching, but he had confined himself to admiring the teacher.  And then in time he too had been drawn into the attraction of that strong sweet nature, and had found himself consulting her upon points of conduct, and acting upon her advice with a docility which he had never shown before to minister or mistress.  For a time he had thought that her piety and her talk of principle might be a mere mask, for he was accustomed to hypocrisy all round him.  It was surely unlikely that a woman who was still beautiful, with as bright an eye and as graceful a figure as any in his court, could, after a life spent in the gayest circles, preserve the spirit of a nun.  But on this point he was soon undeceived, for when his own language had become warmer than that of friendship, he had been met by an iciness of manner and a brevity of speech which had shown him that there was one woman at least in his dominions who had a higher respect for herself than for him.  And perhaps it was better so.  The placid pleasures of friendship were very soothing after the storms of passion.  To sit in her room every afternoon, to listen to talk which was not tainted with flattery, and to hear opinions which were not framed to please his ear, were the occupations now of his happiest hours.  And then her influence over him was all so good!  She spoke of his kingly duties, of his example to his subjects, of his preparation for the World beyond, and of the need for an effort to snap the guilty ties which he had formed.  She was as good as a confessor—­a confessor with a lovely face and a perfect arm.

And now he knew that the time had come when he must choose between her and De Montespan.  Their influences were antagonistic.  They could not continue together.  He stood between virtue and vice, and he must choose.  Vice was very attractive too, very comely, very witty, and holding him by that chain of custom which is so hard to shake off.  There were hours when his nature swayed strongly over to that side, and when he was tempted to fall back into his old life.  But Bossuet and Pere la Chaise were ever at his elbows to whisper encouragement, and, above all, there was Madame de Maintenon to remind him of what was due to his position and to his six-and-forty years.  Now at last he had braced himself for a supreme effort.  There was no safety for him while his old favourite was at court.  He knew himself too well to have any faith in a lasting change so long as she was there ever waiting for his moment of weakness.  She must be persuaded to leave Versailles, if without a scandal it could be done.  He would be firm when he met her in the afternoon, and make her understand once for all that her reign was forever over.