The marquise turned her flashing eyes upon the one that held this royal honor in his keeping. "Sire," said she, "I am slow of comprehension; for it has just occurred to me that your majesty's criticism upon a window at Trianon is to be productive of results most disastrous to the French nation."
"This criticism concerns nobody but Mansard," observed Louvois, carelessly. "I am no longer superintendent of the royal edifices."
"I do not understand you, madame," interposed the king. "What has a window at Trianon to do with the affairs of the nation? Pray let us be serious, and come to a determination."
"Sire," asked the marquise, "is not this matter already determined?"
The king kissed her hand. "It is—and your inquiry is a new proof of your penetration. How truly you sympathize with my emotions! How clearly you read the pages of my heart! Yes, dear marquise, war is inevitable."
"Then our days of happiness are at an end," returned she, sadly; "and your majesty's heart will descend from the contemplation of heavenly things, to thoughts of strife and cruel bloodshed."
"The war is a holy one," interrupted Louvois, "and God Himself holds a monarch responsible for the honor of his people."
"Well spoken, Louvois," replied the king, approvingly. "The cause is just, and the Lord of hosts will battle for us. You, marquise, will be our intercessor with Heaven."
"But your majesty will not be nigh to pray with me," said the marquise, in regretful tones.
The king made no reply to this affectionate challenge; he continued to speak with Louvois, enjoining upon him to hasten his preparations.