“Alone!” cried the king.

“Yes, sire.”

“You are deceived, M. de Crosne.”

“I do not think so, sire.”

“You have bad reporters, sir.”

“So exact, that I can give your majesty a description of her dress, of all her movements, of her cries——”

“Her cries!”

“Even her sighs were observed, sire.”

“It is impossible she could have so far forgotten what is due to me and to herself.”

“Oh, yes,” said the Comte de Provence; “her majesty is surely incapable——”