“You would not have me do it, madame?”

“Not if it is to be a grief to your Majesty.”

“You have, perchance, some soft feeling for the religion of your youth?”

“Nay, sire; I have nothing but hatred for heresy.”

“And yet you would not have them thrust out?”

“Bethink you, sire, that the Almighty can Himself incline their hearts to better things if He is so minded, even as mine was inclined.  May you not leave it in His hands?”

“On my word,” said Louis, brightening, “it is well put.  I shall see if Father la Chaise can find an answer to that.  It is hard to be threatened with eternal flames because one will not ruin one’s kingdom.  Eternal torment!  I have seen the face of a man who had been in the Bastille, for fifteen years.  It was like a dreadful book, with a scar or a wrinkle to mark every hour of that death in life.  But Eternity!” He shuddered, and his eyes were filled with the horror of his thought.  The higher motives had but little power over his soul, as those about him had long discovered, but he was ever ready to wince at the image of the terrors to come.

“Why should you think of such things, sire?” said the lady, in her rich, soothing voice.  “What have you to fear, you who have been the first son of the Church?”

“You think that I am safe, then?”

“Surely, sire.”

“But I have erred, and erred deeply.  You have yourself said as much.”

“But that is all over, sire.  Who is there who is without stain?  You have turned away from temptation.  Surely, then, you have earned your forgiveness.”

“I would that the queen were living once more.  She would find me a better man.”

“I would that she were, sire.”

“And she should know that it was to you that she owed the change.  Oh, Francoise, you are surely my guardian angel, who has taken bodily form!  How can I thank you for what you have done for me?” He leaned forward and took her hand, but at the touch a sudden fire sprang into his eyes, and he would have passed his other arm round her had she not risen hurriedly to avoid the embrace.

“Sire!” said she, with a rigid face and one finger upraised.

“You are right, you are right, Francoise.  Sit down, and I will control myself.  Still at the same tapestry, then!  My workers at the Gobelins must look to their laurels.”  He raised one border of the glossy roll, while she, having reseated herself, though not without a quick questioning glance at her companion, took the other end into her lap and continued her work.

“Yes, sire.  It is a hunting scene in your forests at Fontainebleau.  A stag of ten tines, you see, and the hounds in full cry, and a gallant band of cavaliers and ladies.  Has your Majesty ridden to-day?”

“No.  How is it, Francoise, that you have such a heart of ice?”

“I would it were so, sire.  Perhaps you have hawked, then?”