A woman had darted through the open door, and had caught the upraised wrist.

There was a moment's struggle, two queenly figures swayed and strained, and the knife dropped between their feet.

The frightened Louis caught it up, and seizing his little son by the wrist, he rushed from the apartment.

Francoise de Montespan staggered back against the ottoman to find herself confronted by the steady eyes and set face of that other Francoise, the woman whose presence fell like a shadow at every turn of her life.
"I have saved you, madame, from doing that which you would have been the first to bewail." "Saved me! It is you who have driven me to this!" The fallen favourite leaned against the high back of the ottoman, her hands resting behind her upon the curve of the velvet.

Her lids were half closed on her flashing eyes, and her lips just parted to show a gleam of her white teeth.