“You are insolent, Louis.”

“I do not mean to be so, sire.  But consider, sire, that my mother was a queen, and that it would be strange indeed if for a step-mother I had a—­”

The king raised his hand with a gesture of authority which checked the word upon his lips.

“Silence!” he cried, “or you may say that which would for ever set a gulf between us.  Am I to be treated worse than my humblest subject, who is allowed to follow his own bent in his private affairs?”

“This is not your own private affair, sire; all that you do reflects upon your family.  The great deeds of your reign have given a new glory to the name of Bourbon.  Oh, do not mar it now, sire!  I implore it of you upon my bended knees!”

“You talk like a fool!” cried his father roughly.  “I propose to marry a virtuous and charming lady of one of the oldest noble families of France, and you talk as if I were doing something degrading and unheard of.  What is your objection to this lady?”

“That she is the daughter of a man whose vices were well known, that her brother is of the worst repute, that she has led the life of an adventuress, is the widow of a deformed scribbler, and that she occupies a menial position in the palace.”

The king had stamped with his foot upon the carpet more than once during this frank address, but his anger blazed into a fury at its conclusion.

“Do you dare,” he cried, with flashing eyes, “to call the charge of my children a menial position?  I say that there is no higher in the kingdom.  Go back to Meudon, sir, this instant, and never dare to open your mouth again on the subject.  Away, I say!  When, in God’s good time, you are king of this country, you may claim your own way, but until then do not venture to cross the plans of one who is both your parent and your monarch.”

The young man bowed low, and walked with dignity from the chamber; but he turned with his hand upon the door.

“The Abbe Fenelon came with me, sire.  Is it your pleasure to see him?”

“Away! away!” cried the king furiously, still striding up and down the room with angry face and flashing eyes.  The dauphin left the cabinet, and was instantly succeeded by a tall thin priest, some forty years of age, strikingly handsome, with a pale refined face, large well-marked features, and the easy deferential bearing of one who has had a long training in courts.  The king turned sharply upon him, and looked hard at him with a distrustful eye.

“Good-day, Abbe Fenelon,” said he.  “May I ask what the object of this interview is?”

“You have had the condescension, sire, on more than one occasion, to ask my humble advice, and even to express yourself afterwards as being pleased that you had acted upon it.”

“Well?  Well?  Well?” growled the monarch.

“If rumour says truly, sire, you are now at a crisis when a word of impartial counsel might be of value to you.  Need I say that it would—­”