"Madame!" exclaimed the king, "what means this violence?"
"Your majesty, I was killing a fly that had lit upon Philip's cheek."
"It must be a robust fly, if it is not crushed to atoms," replied the king, much amused.
The court, unable to withstand their merriment, burst into out— simultaneous shout of laughter, under cover—of which Elizabeth- Charlotte, with tearful eyes, signed the fatal document which mingled the noble blood of Orleans with the muddy stream of illegitimacy.
CHAPTER IX.
VENGEANCE.
So great had been the haste of the courtiers to spread the news of Louvois' disgrace, that the very usher who opened the door that led into the vestibule, performed his office with a superciliousness which proved him to have heard it as well as his betters.
Louvois felt as if his grave were yawning before him. He had forgotten that his carriage could not possibly have returned so soon; and now he stood alone on the perron of the palace, staring up and down the street in the vain hope of concealing himself in a fiacre from the gaze of the curious. No sentinel saluted him, no soldier presented arms, as, ashamed of his rich dress and sparkling orders, which rendered him conspicuous, he walked on and on, an object of curiosity to every passer-by. At length, on the Pont Neuf, he met a dilapidated old hackney-coach, amid whose threadbare cushions he was glad to retreat from observation.
On his arrival home, nobody came out to assist him to alight; for how could the lackeys who were idling around the porte-cochere surmise that the occupant of that shabby vehicle was their haughty master?
He entered the hotel, and, without vouchsafing a word to the astounded valets, ascended the staircase that led to his own private apartments. But they came after him to ask whether he was indisposed, and whether they could be of service.