"Accuse me," murmured the king, "but do not say I do not love you." A long silence followed these words, which the young king had pronounced with a perfectly true and profound feeling.

"I am unable to think that to-morrow, and after to-morrow, I shall see you no more; I cannot think that I am going to end my sad days at a distance from Paris; that the lips of an old man, of an unknown, should touch that hand which you hold within yours; no, in truth, I cannot think of all that, my dear sire, without having my poor heart burst with despair." And Marie de Mancini did shed floods of tears.

On his part, the king, much affected, carried his handkerchief to his mouth, and stifled a sob.
"See," said she, "the carriages have stopped, my sister waits for me, the time is come; what you are about to decide upon will be decided for life.

Oh, sire! you are willing, then, that I should lose you?
You are willing, then, Louis, that she to whom you have said 'I love you,' should belong to another than to her king, to her master, to her lover?
Oh! courage, Louis! courage! One word, a single word! Say 'I will!' and all my life is enchained to yours, and all my heart is yours forever." The king made no reply.

Mary then looked at him as Dido looked at Aeneas in the Elysian fields, fierce and disdainful.
"Farewell, then," said she; "farewell life! love! heaven!" And she took a step away.