"Because I cannot return to the court. Exiled, how can I see you again? Would it not be far better to bury myself in a cloister for the rest of my life, with the rich consolation that your affection gives me, with the latest pulses of your heart beating for me, and your latest confession of attachment still ringing in my ears?"
"Exiled, you!" exclaimed Louis XIV., "and who dares to exile, let me ask, when I recall?"
"Oh! sire, something which is greater than and superior to kings even—the world and public opinion. Reflect for a moment; you cannot love a woman who has been ignominiously driven away—love one, whom your mother has stained with suspicion; one, whom your sister has threatened with disgrace; such a woman, indeed, would be unworthy of you."
"Unworthy! one who belongs to me?"
"Yes, sire, precisely on that account; from the very moment she belongs to you, the character of your mistress renders her unworthy."
"You are right, Louise, every shade of delicacy of feeling is yours. Very well, you shall not be exiled."
"Ah! from the tone in which you speak, you have not heard Madame, that is very clear."
"I will appeal from her to my mother."
"Again, sire, you have not seen your mother."
"She, also! poor Louise! every one's hand, then, is against you."