She staggered back as if he had struck her.

“Leave you!” she cried.

“You must leave the court.”

“The court!  Ay, willingly, this instant!  But you!  Ah, sire, you ask what is impossible.”

“I do not ask, madame; I order.  Since you have learned to abuse your position, your presence has become intolerable.  The united kings of Europe have never dared to speak to me as you have spoken to-day.  You have insulted me in my own palace—­me, Louis, the king.  Such things are not done twice, madame.  Your insolence has carried you too far this time.  You thought that because I was forbearing, I was therefore weak.  It appeared to you that if you only humoured me one moment, you might treat me as if I were your equal the next, for that this poor puppet of a king could always be bent this way or that.  You see your mistake now.  At six o’clock you leave Versailles forever.”  His eyes flashed, and his small upright figure seemed to swell in the violence of his indignation, while she leaned away from him, one hand across her eyes and one thrown forward, as if to screen her from that angry gaze.

“Oh, I have been wicked!” she cried.  “I know it, I know it!”

“I am glad, madame, that you have the grace to acknowledge it.”

“How could I speak to you so!  How could I!  Oh, that some blight may come upon this unhappy tongue!  I, who have had nothing but good from you!  I to insult you, who are the author of all my happiness!  Oh, sire, forgive me, forgive me! for pity’s sake forgive me!”

Louis was by nature a kind-hearted man.  His feelings were touched, and his pride also was flattered by the abasement of this beautiful and haughty woman.  His other favourites had been amiable to all, but this one was so proud, so unyielding, until she felt his master-hand.  His face softened somewhat in its expression as he glanced at her, but he shook his head, and his voice was as firm as ever as he answered.

“It is useless, madame,” said he.  “I have thought this matter over for a long time, and your madness to-day has only hurried what must in any case have taken place.  You must leave the palace.”

“I will leave the palace.  Say only that you forgive me.  Oh, sire, I cannot bear your anger.  It crushes me down.  I am not strong enough.  It is not banishment, it is death to which you sentence me.  Think of our long years of love, sire, and say that you forgive me.  I have given up all for your sake—­husband, honour, everything.  Oh, will you not give your anger up for mine?  My God, he weeps!  Oh, I am saved, I am saved!”

“No, no, madame,” cried the king, dashing his hand across his eyes.  “You see the weakness of the man, but you shall also see the firmness of the king.  As to your insults to-day, I forgive them freely, if that will make you more happy in your retirement.  But I owe a duty to my subjects also, and that duty is to set them an example.  We have thought too little of such things.  But a time has come when it is necessary to review our past life, and to prepare for that which is to come.”