with effort she turned toward the king, who, approaching by the side
path, had entered the avenue, and now stood before her. But as she
encountered the fiery glance of the king's eye, she quailed before
it, casting down her own, covered with confusion.

"Who are you?" demanded the king, with stern authority, keeping his
eagle eye fixed upon her. Silent and immovable she stood; only the
quick, feverish breathing and the heaving bosom told the storm that
was raging within.

"Who are you?" repeated the voice, with still more severity--"who
permit themselves to use my park as a nursery? What child is that?
and who are its parents? They should be of high position at court,
who would dare to send their child and nurse to the royal park; and
with what joy they must regard the offspring of their conjugal
tenderness! Tell me to whom does this child belong?"

Sobbing convulsively, the lady sank, kneeling, with uplifted arms,
imploring for mercy. "Sire, annihilate me with your anger, but do
not crush me with your scorn!"

"What language do you permit yourself to hold?" asked the king.

"Sire, it is the language of an unhappy, despairing woman, who knows
that she stands before that great monarch whose judgment she fears
more than that of her God, who sees into her heart, and reads the
tortures and reproaches of her conscience; who knows what she
suffers, and knows, also, that she is free from self-interest, and
every base desire. I believe that God will forgive what I fear your
majesty will not."