La Valliere, much moved at the action, looked around the room, but as she saw the king was alone, she did not complain of it.

They sat down, the king reclining near the cushions on which Louise was seated, with his head supported by her knees, placed there as in an asylum whence no one could banish him; he gazed ardently upon her, and as if the moment had arrived when nothing could interpose between their two hearts; she, too, gazed with similar passion upon him, and from her eyes, so softly pure, emanated a flame, whose rays first kindled and then inflamed the heart of the king, who, trembling with happiness as Louise's hand rested on his head, grew giddy from excess of joy, and momentarily awaited either the painter's or Saint-Aignan's return to break the sweet illusion.

But the door remained closed, and neither Saint-Aignan nor the painter appeared, nor did the hangings even move.

A deep mysterious silence reigned in the room--a silence which seemed to influence even the song-birds in their gilded prisons.

The king, completely overcome, turned round his head and buried his burning lips in La Valliere's hands, who, herself faint, with excess of emotion, pressed her trembling hands against her lover's lips.