thould indeed be surprised, that you have not seen a lady in this court sufficiently lovely for you to fix upon." "Madam," replied Fortuné, "I endeavour so earnestly to fulfil the duties of my office, that I have no time for sighing." "You love nothing, then?" added she, with vehemence. "No, Madam," said he; "I have not a heart of so gallant a character; I am a kind of misanthrope, who loves his liberty, and who would not lose it for all the world." The Queen sat down, and fixing upon him the kindest of looks—"There are some chains, so beautiful and glorious," replied she, "that anyone might feel happy to wear them; if Fortuné has destined such to you, I would advise you to renounce your liberty." In speaking thus, her eyes explained her meaning too intelligibly, for the Chevalier, who had already very strong suspicions, not to be now entirely confirmed in them. Fearing the conversation might go still further, he looked at his watch, and setting the hand on a little—"I must beg your Majesty," said he, "to allow me to go to the palace; it is time for the King to arise, and he desired me to be in attendance." "Go, indifferent youth," said she, sighing profoundly; "you are right to pay court to my brother, but remember you would not have done wrong to dedicate some of your attentions to me."
The Queen followed him with her eyes, then let them fall, and reflecting upon what had just passed, blushed with shame and rage. That which added still more to her grief, was that Floride had witnessed it all, and she remarked upon her face an expression of joy, which seemed to tell her, she would have done better had she taken her advice instead of speaking to Fortuné; she meditated sometime, and taking her tablets, she wrote these lines, which she caused to be set to music by the Lully[1] of the court:—
""Behold! behold! the torment I endure!
The victor knows it: but it moves him not.
My heart displays the wound no time can cure,
Still rankling with the shaft too truly shot.
"As unconceal'd, his coldness, his disdain,
He hates me, and his hate I would return;
But ah! my foolish heart essays in vain
With aught but fondest love for him to burn!"
- ↑ The celebrated composer, Lully, was, at the time these stories were written, in the zenith of his popularity; both at the court of Versailles, and with the public at large. He died in 1686.
