The Bishop of Meaux was waiting in the ante-room, and Father la Chaise in a few brief words let him see the danger of the situation and the means by which they should meet it.  Together they sought Madame de Maintenon in her room.  She had discarded the sombre widow’s dress which she had chosen since her first coming to court, and wore now, as more in keeping with her lofty prospects, a rich yet simple costume of white satin with bows of silver serge.  A single diamond sparkled in the thick coils of her dark tresses.  The change had taken years from a face and figure which had always looked much younger than her age, and as the two plotters looked upon her perfect complexion, her regular features, so calm and yet so full of refinement, and the exquisite grace of her figure and bearing, they could not but feel that if they failed in their ends, it was not for want of having a perfect tool at their command.

She had risen at their entrance, and her expression showed that she had read upon their faces something of the anxiety which filled their minds.

“You have evil news!” she cried.

“No, no, my daughter.”  It was the bishop who spoke.  “But we must be on our guard against our enemies, who would turn the king away from you if they could.”

Her face shone at the mention of her lover.

“Ah, you do not know!” she cried.  “He has made a vow.  I would trust him as I would trust myself.  I know that he will be true.”

But the Jesuit’s intellect was arrayed against the intuition of the woman.

“Our opponents are many and strong,” said he shaking his head.  “Even if the king remain firm, he will be annoyed at every turn, so that he will feel his life is darker instead of lighter, save, of course, madame, for that brightness which you cannot fail to bring with you.  We must bring the matter to an end.”

“And how, father?”

“The marriage must be at once!”

“At once!”

“Yes.  This very night, if possible.”

“Oh, father, you ask too much.  The king would never consent to such a proposal.”

“It is he that will propose it.”

“And why?”

“Because we shall force him to.  It is only thus that all the opposition can be stopped.  When it is done, the court will accept it.  Until it is done, they will resist it.”

“What would you have me do, then, father?”

“Resign the king.”

“Resign him!” She turned as pale as a lily, and looked at him in bewilderment.

“It is the best course, madame.”

“Ah, father, I might have done it last month, last week, even yesterday morning.  But now—­oh, it would break my heart!”

“Fear not, madame.  We advise you for the best.  Go to the king now, at once.  Say to him that you have heard that he has been subjected to much annoyance upon your account, that you cannot bear to think that you should be a cause of dissension in his own family, and therefore you will release him from his promise, and will withdraw yourself from the court forever.”