She rose, therefore, in the best of spirits, with her mind set on the one question as to how best she could gain an audience with the king.
She was still in her boudoir putting the last touches to her toilet when her page announced to her that the king was waiting in her _salon_.
Madame de Montespan could hardly believe in such good fortune.

She had racked her brain all morning as to how she should win her way to him, and here he was waiting for her.

With a last glance at the mirror, she hastened to meet him.
He was standing with his back turned, looking up at one of Snyders's paintings, when she entered; but as she closed the door, he turned and took two steps towards her.

She had run forward with a pretty little cry of joy, her white arms outstretched, and love shining on her face; but he put out his hand, gently and yet with decision, with a gesture which checked her approach.

Her hands dropped to her side, her lip trembled, and she stood looking at him with her grief and her fears all speaking loudly from her eyes.