"Anne!" cried the King, gazing down at her in delight.
The cheeks of la Châteauroux grew a little redder, her eyes a little more brilliant. "Your Majesty will pardon me that I do not rise?" she said.
"Bachelier told me of your illness. I am sincerely sorry," he returned, examining her closely.
"Will your Majesty be pleased to sit?"
"'Majesty,' Anne? 'Majesty?' What nonsense is this? Have you become a waiting-maid? It is 'Louis' when we are together, you and I."
Madame drew away a little. "You wish that?" she asked, looking at him keenly.
"'Tis what I have come for. Ah, madame—Versailles is empty now! I have been bored—they have bored me to death." He turned away with one of those abrupt transitions from tenderness to fretfulness which were so characteristic of him as a king. He yawned as he drew a small chair up to his Duchess, and seated himself heavily thereon. "I wish you to return to Versailles," he said, with an air of putting an end to the matter.
Mme. de Châteauroux glanced at him and slightly shrugged her shoulders. "That will not be so easily arranged."
"What! You do not wish to return?"
"Why should I? Life there was not at all easy. Many changes would be necessary before I should consent to live again inside its walls."