"Indeed!" exclaimed the King; "then we men must be certainly in the wrong. But what think you," he continued, "what think you, as a proof--what would yon fair girl Clémence de Marly say, were we to ask her? I saw her but now, as I passed, reading with the Dauphine in somewhat melancholy guise."
"Well may she be melancholy, Sire!" replied the lady, somewhat sadly, "when the King hears not her prayers. But methinks it would be hardly fair to make her a judge."
"Why, why?" demanded Louis quickly; "because she is so proud and haughty?--Remember, you said the proudest in our court."
"So I say still, Sire," replied Madame de Maintenon in a gentle tone; "but I do not think her proud. She would be too favourable a judge; that was my sole objection. Her own station in the court is doubtful; and besides, Sire, you could not think of submitting that, on which none--no, not the wisest minister you have--can judge so well as yourself, to the decision of a girl."
"Fear not," replied the King; "I will but take her voice on the matter, without her knowing aught of that on which her opinion is called for. I would fain hear what a young and unpractised tongue would say. Let her be called in."
Madame de Maintenon hesitated for a moment. The risk seemed great; the object of long years was at stake; and her own fate, and that of France, might depend upon the words of a wild, proud girl. But she saw no means of avoiding the trial; and she rang the bell: even in the very act of doing so, remembering many a trait of Clémence, both in childhood and youth, which gave her some assurance. A page appeared instantly, and was despatched to the apartments of the Dauphine to call Mademoiselle de Marly to the presence of the King.
The feet of Clémence bore her thither like light, though her heart beat wildly with fear and agitation; and the hue of her cheek, once so bright and glowing, was now as pale as death. She was glad, however, to find the King and Madame de Maintenon alone, for she had succeeded in interesting the latter in the fate of the Count de Morseiul, and she doubted not that she would exert herself, as much as she dared to do for any one, to persuade the King to deal with him gently. So many long and weary days had passed, however, with but little progress, that she had well nigh sunk into despair, when the summons of this night made her suppose that her fate, and that of her lover, was upon the eve of being decided.
The page who conducted her closed the door as soon as she had entered, and Clémence stood before the King with feelings of awe and agitation, such as in former days she knew not that she could feel towards the greatest potentate on earth: but Clémence de Marly loved, and her whole feelings had been changed.
Not a little was her surprise, however, when the King addressed her in a tone half playful, half serious,--
"Come hither, spoiled beauty," he said, "come hither: and sit down upon that stool--or, in truth, I should give you up this chair, for you are going to act a part that you never performed before--that of judge, and in a matter of taste, too."