"Yes, monseigneur, you are the father of my children. I plighted my faith to you, and I have kept my marriage-vows. But you know, as well as I, that we were both nothing but royal merchandise, bartered for reasons of state, and that we have never been congenial. Nevertheless, I love you as the father of my Philip! for he has your handsome face and your refined and courtly bearing."
"Madame," returned the duke, blushing with gratification, "I thought you disdained to flatter."
"I do not flatter you, monseigneur," cried the duchess, cordially grasping his hand, and leading him to the mantel, over which hung a full-length portrait of the youthful Duke de Chartres. "See," exclaimed she with affectionate pride, "see what a beautiful picture Mignet has made of him. It was done in secret in Mignet's studio, and was brought to me yesterday as a birthday present from my boy."
"It was very thoughtless of Philip to visit Mignet," objected the duke. "He too often forgets his rank and relationship to the king."
"Forgive him, monseigneur. He forgot his station, to remember his filial affection," and for several moments the mother's eyes were fondly fixed upon the portrait. "Look!" resumed she; "these are your eyes, your well-developed forehead, your aquiline nose, your pleasant and expressive mouth. In your youth, you were as handsome as he—I have often heard it said that you were the handsomest cavalier in Paris."
"Except the king, madame—except the king! I am too loyal a subject to excel his majesty in anything. I am glad, however, that you think my son resembles me; to me there is a blended likeness of both his parents in his countenance."
"Never, never!" exclaimed Elizabeth-Charlotte, with animation. "There is no trace of my coarse features in that aristocratic face; and yet, like the owl that hatched the eagle's egg, I am proud of calling him my son. And now, monseigneur, let me implore of you not to cross the escutcheon of our eaglet with the bar-sinister that disgraces the arms of Mademoiselle de Blois."
"Madame," exclaimed the duke, much irritated, "speak more respectfully of the daughter of Louis XIV.! She has been recognized by his majesty, and there is no stain upon her arms."
"Pardon me—it is not in the power of any sovereign to erase the foul blot of her birth; and I shudder when I think of an alliance between the son of the Duke of Orleans and grandson of the Elector Palatine, and the daughter of a king's leman. If his majesty mentions the subject to me, I shall tell him as much."
"Impossible!" cried the duke, aghast. "I have already promised that you would solicit the honor of an alliance with Mademoiselle de Blois."