That she should be jealous of and insult another woman, that was excusable.

It was, in fact, an indirect compliment to himself.

But that she should turn upon him, as if they were merely man and woman, instead of monarch and subject, that was too much.

He gave an inarticulate cry of rage, and rushed to the door.
"Sire!" Madame de Maintenon, who had watched keenly the swift play of his emotions over his expressive face, took two quick steps forward, and laid her hand upon his arm.
"I will go after her." "And why, sire ?" To forbid her the court." "But, sire--" "You heard her! It is infamous! I shall go." "But, sire, could you not write ?" "No, no; I shall see her." He pulled open the door.
"Oh, sire, be firm, then!" It was with an anxious face that she watched him start off, walking rapidly, with angry gestures, down the corridor.
Then she turned back, and dropping upon her knees on the _prie-dieu_, bowed her head in prayer for the king, for herself, and for France.
De Catinat, the guardsman, had employed himself in showing his young friend from over the water all the wonders of the great palace, which the other had examined keenly, and had criticised or admired with an independence of judgment and a native correctness of taste natural to a man whose life had been spent in freedom amid the noblest works of nature.

Grand as were the mighty fountains and the artificial cascades, they had no overwhelming effect on one who had travelled up from Erie to Ontario, and had seen the Niagara River hurl itself over its precipice, nor were the long level swards so very large to eyes which had rested upon the great plains of the Dakotas.