inaugurated the picturesque and fanciful amid the formal style of the gardening of that period. This sheltered retreat, covered with nasturtiums and climbing roses, screened the bench, so that the spectators, insulated in the middle of the lawn, saw and were seen on every side, but could not be heard, without perceiving those who might approach for the purpose of listening. Seated thus, the king made a sign of encouragement to those who were running about; and then, as if he were engaged with Madame in a dissertation upon the butterfly, which he had thrust through with a gold pin and fastened on his hat, said to her, "How admirably we are placed here for conversations." "Yes, sire, for I wished to be heard by you alone, and yet to be seen by every one." "And I also," said Louis. "My note surprised you?" "Terrified me rather. But what I have to tell you is more important." "It cannot be, sire. Do you know that Monsieur refuses to see me?" "Why so?" "Can you not guess why?" "Ah, Madame! in that case we have both the same thing to say to each other." "What has happened to you, then?" "You wish me to begin?" "Yes, for I have told you all." "Well, then, as soon as I returned, I found my mother waiting for me, and she led me away to her own apartments." "The queen-mother?" said Madame, with some anxiety, "the matter is serious then." "Indeed it is, for she told me... but, in the first place, allow me to preface what I have to say with one remark. Has Monsieur ever spoken to you about me?" "Often." "Has he ever spoken to you about his jealousy?" "More frequently still." "Of his jealousy of me?" "No, but of the Duke of Buckingham and De Guiche." "Well, Madame, Monsieur's present idea is a jealousy of myself." "Really," replied the princess, smiling archly. "And it really seems to me," continued the king, "that we have never given any ground - " "Never! at least _I_ have not. But who told you that Monsieur was jealous?" "My mother represented to me that Monsieur entered her apartments like a madman, that he uttered a thousand complaints against you, and - forgive me for saying it - against your coquetry. It appears that Monsieur indulges in injustice, too." "You are very kind, sire." "My mother reassured him; but he pretended that people reassure him too often, and that he had had quite enough of it." "Would it not be better for him not to make himself uneasy in any way?" "The very thing I said." "Confess, sire, that the world is very wicked. Is it possible that a brother and sister cannot converse together, or take pleasure in each other's company, without giving rise to remarks and suspicions? For indeed, sire, we are doing no harm, and have no intention of doing any." And she looked at the king with that proud yet provoking glance that kindles desire in the coldest and wisest of men. "No!" sighed the king, "that is true." "You know very well, sire, that if it were to continue, I should be obliged to make a disturbance. Do you decide upon our conduct, and say whether it has, or has not, been perfectly correct." "Oh, certainly - perfectly correct." "Often alone together, - for we delight in the same things, - we might possibly be led away into error, but _have_ we been? I regard you as a brother, and nothing more." The king frowned. She continued: "Your hand, which often meets my own, does not excite in me that agitation and emotion which is the case with those who love each other, for instance - " "Enough," said the king, "enough, I entreat you. You have no pity - you are killing me." "What is the matter?" "In fact, then, you distinctly say you experience nothing when near me." "Oh, sire! I don't say that - my affection - " "Enough, Henrietta, I again entreat you. If you believe me to be marble, as you are, undeceive yourself." "I do not understand you, sire." "Very well," said the king, casting down his eyes. "And so our meetings, the pressure of each other's hand, the looks we have exchanged - Yes, yes; you are right, and I understand your meaning," and he buried his face in his hands. "Take care, sire," said Madame, hurriedly, "Monsieur de Saint-Aignan is looking at you." "Of course," said Louis, angrily; "never even the shadow of liberty! never any sincerity in my intercourse with any one! I imagine I have found a friend, who is nothing but a spy; a dearer friend, who is only a - sister!" Madame was silent, and cast down her eyes. "My husband is jealous," she murmured, in a tone of which nothing could equal its sweetness and charm. "You are right," exclaimed the king, suddenly. "You see," she said, looking at him in a manner that set his heart on fire, "you are free, you are not suspected, the peace of your house is not disturbed." "Alas," said the king, "as yet you know nothing, for the queen is jealous." "Maria Theresa!" "Stark mad with jealousy! Monsieur's jealousy arises from hers; she was weeping and complaining to my mother, and was reproaching us for those bathing parties, which have made me so happy." "And me too," answered Madame, by a look. "When, suddenly," continued the king, "Monsieur, who was listening, heard the word '_banos_,' which the queen pronounced with some degree of bitterness, that awakened his attention; he entered the room, looking quite wild, broke into the conversation, and began to quarrel with my mother so bitterly that she was obliged to leave him; so that, while you have a jealous husband to deal with, I shall have perpetually present before me a specter of jealousy with swollen eyes, a cadaverous face, and sinister looks." "Poor king," murmured Madame, as she lightly touched the king's hand. He retained her hand in his, and in order to press it without exciting suspicion in the spectators, who were not so much taken up with the butterflies that they could not occupy themselves about other matters, and who perceived clearly enough that there was some mystery in the king's and Madame's conversation, Louis placed the dying butterfly before his sister-in-law, and bent over it as if to count the thousand eyes of its wings, or the particles of golden dust which covered it. Neither of them spoke; however, their hair mingled, their breaths united, and their hands feverishly throbbed in each other's grasp. Five minutes passed in this manner. Chapter XXXVIII: What Was Caught after the Butterflies. The two young people remained for a moment with their heads bent down, bowed, as it were, beneath the double thought of the love which was springing up in their hearts, and which gives birth to so many happy fancies in the imaginations of twenty years of age. Henrietta gave a side glance, from time to time, at the king. Hers was one of those finely-organized natures capable of looking inwardly at itself, as well as at others at the same moment. She perceived Love lying at the bottom of Louis's heart, as a skillful diver sees a pearl at the bottom of the sea. She knew Louis was hesitating, if not in doubt, and that his indolent or timid heart required aid and encouragement. "And so?" she said, interrogatively, breaking the silence. "What do you mean?" inquired Louis, after a moment's pause. "I mean, that I shall be obliged to return to the resolution I had formed." "To what resolution?" "To that which I have already submitted to your majesty." "When?" "On the very day we had a certain explanation about Monsieur's jealousies." "What did you say to me then?" inquired Louis, with some anxiety. "Do you not remember, sire?" "Alas! if it be another cause of unhappiness, I shall recollect it soon enough." "A cause of unhappiness for myself alone, sire," replied Madame Henrietta; "but as it is necessary, I must submit to it." "At least, tell me what it is," said the king. "Absence." "Still that unkind resolve?" "Believe me, sire, I have not found it without a violent struggle with myself; it is absolutely necessary I should return to England." "Never, never will I permit you to leave France," exclaimed the king. "And yet, sire," said Madame, affecting a gentle yet sorrowful determination, "nothing is more urgently necessary; nay, more than that, I am persuaded it is your mother's desire I should do so." "Desire!" exclaimed the king; "that is a very strange expression to use to me." "Still," replied Madame Henrietta, smilingly, "are you not happy in submitting to the wishes of so good a mother?" "Enough, I implore you; you rend my very soul." "I?" "Yes; for you speak of your departure with tranquillity." "I was not born for happiness, sire," replied the princess, dejectedly; "and I acquired, in very early life, the habit of seeing my dearest wishes disappointed." "Do you speak truly?" said the king. "Would your departure gainsay any one of your cherished thoughts?" "If I were to say 'yes,' would you begin to take your misfortune patiently?" "How cruel you are!" "Take care, sire; some one is coming." The king looked all round him, and said, "No, there is no one," and then continued: "Come, Henrietta, instead of trying to contend against Monsieur's jealousy by a departure which would kill me - " Henrietta slightly shrugged her shoulders like a woman unconvinced. "Yes," repeated Louis, "which would kill me, I say. Instead of fixing your mind on this departure, does not your imagination - or rather does not your heart - suggest some expedient?" "What is it you wish my heart to suggest?" "Tell me, how can one prove to another that it is wrong to be jealous?" "In the first place, sire, by giving no motive for jealousy; in other words, in loving no one but the person in question." "Oh! I expected more than that." "What did you expect?" "That you would simply tell me that jealous people are pacified by concealing the affection which is entertained for the object of jealousy." "Dissimulation is difficult, sire." "Yet it is only be means of conquering difficulties that any happiness is
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