"He says that the king is ready." "Then we shall not keep him waiting.

Come, mademoiselle, and may God shed His blessing upon what we are about to do!" The little party assembled in the king's ante-room, and started from there to the private chapel.

In front walked the portly bishop, clad in a green vestment, puffed out with the importance of the function, his missal in his hand, and his fingers between the pages at the service _de matrimoniis_.

Beside him strode his almoner, and two little servitors of the court in crimson cassocks bearing lighted torches.
The king and Madame de Maintenon walked side by side, she quiet and composed, with gentle bearing and downcast eyes, he with a flush on his dark cheeks, and a nervous, furtive look in his eyes, like a man who knows that he is in the midst of one of the great crises of his life.
Behind them, in solemn silence, followed a little group of chosen witnesses, the lean, silent Pere la Chaise, Louvois, scowling heavily at the bride, the Marquis de Charmarante, Bontems, and Mademoiselle Nanon.
The torches shed a strong yellow light upon this small band as they advanced slowly through the corridors and _salons_ which led to the chapel, and they threw a garish glare upon the painted walls and ceilings, flashing back from gold-work and from mirror, but leaving long trailing shadows in the corners.

The king glanced nervously at these black recesses, and at the portraits of his ancestors and relations which lined the walls.