"You shall not be exposed to a repetition of this. Campan shall look over your papers before he presents them."
"Do you think I am likely to find them often, sire? I hope not. But be that as it may, I am no coward. I have courage to face any amount of calumny—for my heart is pure, and my life will vindicate me."
"It will, indeed," said the king, tenderly. "But you must keep aloof from the poisonous atmosphere of slander. We must live less among the multitude."
"Ah, sire, how can we keep aloof from those who have the right to be near us?"
The king started, almost imperceptibly, and his anxious glance rested upon his wife's honest, truthful eyes. Removing her handkerchief, she pointed to a paper.
"This is the envelope in which I found 'Le lever de l'aurore.' The handwriting is disguised; but tell me frankly if you do not recognize it. I do."
"I—really—I may be mistaken," began the king, "but—"
"Nay, you see that it is the hand of the Count de Provence, your own brother, sire. He it is, who enjoys the cruel satisfaction of having forced this indecent libel upon my notice, and I doubt not for one moment that he also is the one who sent it to you. "
"Yes, no doubt, he did it to warn us, and we must be grateful and take the warning to our hearts."
The queen laughed scornfully.