“Tut! tut!” cried the king suddenly.  “There is something amiss there.  The second last line has a limp in it, surely.”  It was one of his foibles to pose as a critic, and the wise poet would fall in with his corrections, however unreasonable they might be.

“Which line, sire?  It is indeed an advantage to have one’s faults made clear.”

“Read the passage again.”

         “Et si, quand je lui dis le secret de mon ame,
          Avec moins de rigueur elle eut traite ma flamme,
          Dans ma fayon de vivre, et suivant mon humeur,
          Une autre eut bientot le present de mon coeur.”

“Yes, the third line has a foot too many.  Do you not remark it, madame?”

“No; but I fear that I should make a poor critic.”

“Your Majesty is perfectly right,” said Corneille unblushingly.  “I shall mark the passage, and see that it is corrected.”

“I thought that it was wrong.  If I do not write myself, you can see that I have at least got the correct ear.  A false quantity jars upon me.  It is the same in music.  Although I know little of the matter, I can tell a discord where Lully himself would miss it.  I have often shown him errors of the sort in his operas, and I have always convinced him that I was right.”

“I can readily believe it, your Majesty.”  Corneille had picked up his book again, and was about to resume his reading when there came a sharp tap at the door.

“It is his Highness the minister, Monsieur de Louvois,” said Mademoiselle Nanon.

“Admit him,” answered Louis.  “Monsieur Corneille, I am obliged to you for what you have read, and I regret that an affair of state will now interrupt your comedy.  Some other day perhaps I may have the pleasure of hearing the rest of it.”  He smiled in the gracious fashion which made all who came within his personal influence forget his faults and remember him only as the impersonation of dignity and of courtesy.

The poet, with his book under his arm, slipped out, while the famous minister, tall, heavily wigged, eagle-nosed, and commanding, came bowing into the little room.  His manner was that of exaggerated politeness, but his haughty face marked only too plainly his contempt for such a chamber and for the lady who dwelt there.  She was well aware of the feeling with which he regarded her, but her perfect self-command prevented her from ever by word or look returning his dislike.

“My apartments are indeed honoured to-day,” said she, rising with outstretched hand.  “Can monsieur condescend to a stool, since I have no fitter seat to offer you in this little doll’s house?  But perhaps I am in the way, if you wish to talk of state affairs to the king.  I can easily withdraw into my boudoir.”

“No, no, nothing of the kind, madame,” cried Louis.  “It is my wish that you should remain here.  What is it, Louvois?”

“A messenger arrived from England with despatches, your Majesty,” answered the minister, his ponderous figure balanced upon the three-legged stool.  “There is very ill feeling there, and there is some talk of a rising.  The letter from Lord Sunderland wished to know whether, in case the Dutch took the side of the malcontents, the king might look to France for help.  Of course, knowing your Majesty’s mind, I answered unhesitatingly that he might.”