“There is nothing to be gained, madame, by being insolent,” said he.

“Nor is it my custom, sire.”

“And yet I find your words so.”

“Truth is always mistaken for insolence, sire, at the court of France.”

“We have had enough of this.”

“A very little truth is enough.”

“You forget yourself, madame.  I beg that you will leave the room.”

“I must first remind your Majesty that I was so far honoured as to have an appointment this afternoon.  At four o’clock I had your royal promise that you would come to me.  I cannot doubt that your Majesty will keep that promise in spite of the fascinations which you may find here.”

“I should have come, madame, but the clock, as you may observe, is half an hour slow, and the time had passed before I was aware of it.”

I beg, sire, that you will not let that distress you.  I am returning to my chamber, and five o’clock will suit me as well as four.”

“I thank you, madame, but I have not found this interview so pleasant that I should seek another.”

“Then your Majesty will not come?”

“I should prefer not.”

“In spite of your promise!”

“Madame!”

“You will break your word!”

“Silence, madame; this is intolerable.”

“It is indeed intolerable!” cried the angry lady, throwing all discretion to the winds.  “Oh, I am not afraid of you, sire.  I have loved you, but I have never feared you.  I leave you here.  I leave you with your conscience and your—­your lady confessor.  But one word of truth you shall hear before I go.  You have been false to your wife, and you have been false to your mistress, but it is only now that I find that you can be false also to your word.”  She swept him an indignant courtesy, and glided, with head erect, out of the room.

The king sprang from his chair as if he had been stung.  Accustomed as he was to his gentle little wife, and the even gentler La Valliere, such language as this had never before intruded itself upon the royal ears.  It was like a physical blow to him.  He felt stunned, humiliated, bewildered, by so unwonted a sensation.  What odour was this which mingled for the first time with the incense amid which he lived?  And then his whole soul rose up in anger at her, at the woman who had dared to raise her voice against him.  That she should be jealous of and insult another woman, that was excusable.  It was, in fact, an indirect compliment to himself.  But that she should turn upon him, as if they were merely man and woman, instead of monarch and subject, that was too much.  He gave an inarticulate cry of rage, and rushed to the door.

“Sire!” Madame de Maintenon, who had watched keenly the swift play of his emotions over his expressive face, took two quick steps forward, and laid her hand upon his arm.

“I will go after her.”

“And why, sire?”