The king had stared in amazement at his brother, but his anger now overcame his astonishment.

“Upon my word!” he cried; “upon my word!  I have said just now that you have been an excellent brother, but I fear that I spoke a little prematurely.  And so you take upon yourself to object to the lady whom I select as my wife!”

“I do, sire.”

“And by what right?”

“By the right of the family honour, sire, which is as much mine as yours.”

“Man,” cried the king furiously, “have you not yet learned that within this kingdom I am the fountain of honour, and that whomsoever I may honour becomes by that very fact honourable?  Were I to take a cinder-wench out of the Rue Poissonniere, I could at my will raise her up until the highest in France would be proud to bow down before her.  Do you not know this?”

“No, I do not,” cried his brother, with all the obstinacy of a weak man who has at last been driven to bay.  “I look upon it as a slight upon me and a slight upon my wife.”

“Your wife!  I have every respect for Charlotte Elizabeth of Bavaria, but how is she superior to one whose grandfather was the dear friend and comrade in arms of Henry the Great?  Enough!  I will not condescend to argue such a matter with you!  Begone, and do not return to my presence until you have learned not to interfere in my affairs.”

“For all that, my wife shall not know her!” snarled monsieur; and then, as his brother took a fiery step or two towards him, he turned and scuttled out of the room as fast as his awkward gait and high heels would allow him.

But the king was to have no quiet that day.  If Madame de Maintenon’s friends had rallied to her yesterday, her enemies were active to-day.  Monsieur had hardly disappeared before there rushed into the room a youth who bore upon his rich attire every sign of having just arrived from a dusty journey.  He was pale-faced and auburn-haired, with features which would have been strikingly like the king’s if it were not that his nose had been disfigured in his youth.  The king’s face had lighted up at the sight of him, but it darkened again as he hurried forward and threw himself down at his feet.

“Oh, sire,” he cried, “spare us this grief—­spare us this humiliation!  I implore you to pause before you do what will bring dishonour upon yourself and upon us!”

The king started back from him, and paced angrily up and down the room.

“This is intolerable!” he cried.  “It was bad from my brother, but worse from my son.  You are in a conspiracy with him, Louis.  Monsieur has told you to act this part.”

The dauphin rose to his feet and looked steadfastly at his angry father.

“I have not seen my uncle,” he said.  “I was at Meudon when I heard this news—­this dreadful news—­and I sprang upon my horse, sire, and galloped over to implore you to think again before you drag our royal house so low.”