"My dear Boileau, I say again that her sun is setting. Have you not
heard the news?"

"Not a word."

"Her brother, Monsieur de Vivonne, has been refused the _entre_."

"Impossible!"


"But it is a fact."

"And when?"

"This very morning."

"From whom had you it?"

"From De Catinat, the captain of the guard. He had his orders to bar
the way to him."

"Ha! then the king does indeed mean mischief. That is why his brow is
so cloudy this morning, then. By my faith, if the marquise has the
spirit with which folk credit her, he may find that it was easier to win
her than to slight her."

"Ay; the Mortemarts are no easy race to handle."

"Well, heaven send him a safe way out of it! But who is this gentleman?