This is a story of the King's anger. I, Jean Philippe de Savigny, write it in secret so that my son may read and take warning in the years to come.

It was in the spring that I first met the dear and gracious lady, whom I have loved unfalteringly ever since. I saw her at a court ball, seated at her mother's side, so sweet, so modest and delicately fair, and I adored her.

I found she was Mademoiselle de Laurier, Edmée her mother called her, and she walked a minuet with me that evening. Dieu, I hardly dared touch her little fingers!

And she caught my emotion, blushing rosily under my gaze. I lingered by her chair until the King sent for me to complete his card table, and then I went reluctantly. He perceived it too, with his piercing black eyes that saw everything.

"I fear we interrupted you, Marquis," he said maliciously.

"On the contrary, Sire; I am honored," I replied taking my seat. He laughed and nothing more was said at the time, but when he broke up the game, he detained me a moment.

"You must do nothing hasty," he said, "we will marry you to a duchess at least, de Savigny; be patient."

His manner was jesting but I colored involuntarily. "Sire," I answered as firmly as I dared, "I am not ambitious. I should esteem myself more fortunate than I deserve if I could win Mademoiselle de Laurier for my wife."

He lifted his eyebrows. "So serious," he said, turning away. "Very well, Monsieur, but remember I do not allow even a lady to absorb all my courtier's attention."

I bowed; and went in search of Mademoiselle.

I knew well enough the King's jealousy and that he usually married his favorite gentlemen to particularly unlovable ladies, but this time I was determined he should fail. Court favor mattered little to me. My wealth and title were inherited from a long line of ancestors; he could deprive me of nothing.

I found Mademoiselle just leaving and I had the pleasure of leading her to the carriage. Madame, her mother, consented willingly when I asked permission to call; she herself smiled at me from under her long lashes. That night I did not sleep; indeed my sleep was but scanty for many nights thereafter, for I saw her everyday. My wooing was rapid; her parents were charmed to find what they considered so suitable a parti, and I cannot write of it calmly. Mademoiselle deigned to love me. I first discovered it one afternoon when as I approached the house, I glanced up at the window over the door and met my lady's great gray eyes watching me. She fled at once, but when I reached the salon, I went straight to her side.

"Mademoiselle," I murmured in her ear, for the room was full, "Mademoiselle, were you watching for me?"

She drew a quick, half-frightened breath, then looked up at me in sudden courage.

"Yes, Monsieur," she whispered.

Careless of the roomful of chattering visitors, I caught her hand in mine. "You care then, Mademoiselle? It is not because your parents wish this marriage, but because you love me a little as I love you with all my heart? Speak to me Edmée, I have hungered so for a word from you yourself. Answer, my beloved."

"I care very much, Philippe," she answered simply.

After that she watched for me every day, shyly at first but finally with all gentle confidence. Our window, we called that one at which I saw her.

Of course I had been careful during those few weeks so to time my visits to Edmée that the King did not miss me. Nevertheless it was with some trepidation that I announced my engagement to him; I expected trouble. But I was agreeably surprised. He only remarked, "You do not seem to have spent much time with Mademoiselle, Marquis."

"Enough to win her, Sire," I retorted.

"Very good," he said dryly; "see you do not spend any more."

If I had followed his advice, I might have escaped what occurred later; but each day I found it increasingly hard to be away from Edmée. I never knew it was possible to love anyone so much. I used to feel a delight so keen it was almost pain when I saw the dear golden head at our window; and she was always there at the hour of my visit, always.

Gradually I passed less and less time at the palace, scarcely noticing in my great happiness how dark the King's face was growing toward me. The climax came when he invited, or rather, ordered me to attend another of the interminable card parties with which the court amused itself.

It took place in the afternoon at the very hour I visited my fiancée, and I think the King saw my annoyance in spite of my effort to conceal it. Still, I had no choice and of course intended to obey; by what fatality I forgot so important a thing is inexplicable. It is true, nevertheless; I absolutely forgot the whole occurrence and went as usual to Edmée.

I remember she wore violet that day, and I laughed at her teasingly. "It is the color of sadness," I said. "Are you sad, Mademoiselle?"

To my surprise she shivered a little. "No, no, Philippe," she answered vehemently. "Do not say so. I cannot be sad while I have you. See, I will give you these and they shall be a pledge of love, not sorrow."

And taking a knot of violets from her hair, she fastened them in my coat. I kissed her hand, on which shone my betrothal ring like a blue star on a snowy cloud.

An hour later when I rose to go, taking formal leave of madame and her, Edmée leaned toward me, "I love you," she said under her breath, "I love you for always."

We looked into each other's eyes; there were no curtains between our souls in that instant.

It was dusk when I descended the steps, the soft odorous dusk of spring, and I paused dreamily to wonder where I should go next. Home to dinner, I supposed, and then to the palace. The palace; at the word recollection swept over my mind.

At four o'clock, I should have taken my place at the King's table. Dieu, how angry he must have been! For a few moments I stood aghast before my own stupidity. What could I say to him; that I forgot? Hardly an excuse to offer a jealous monarch. But presently the absurdity of the great Louis waiting impatiently while I amused myself struck me so forcibly as to banish serious thoughts. After all what had I to fear? Merely an unpleasant half hour with him; and my courage returned at the idea. The most he could do would be to send me from Paris, and that Edmée would go with me I well knew. Evidently the only course was to go and apologize at once. I went home to dress and from there drove to the palace. The King was in his study, I was informed, and would see me.

I found him alone, and one glance at his face, showed me the storm awaiting me. He said not a word, merely giving me permission to speak with a nod. As I sank on my knee, I began to realize for the first time why he was so much feared.

"Sire," I commenced uncertainly, "I have to apologize. I most deeply regret my failure to attend this afternoon, it was unintentional."

"You were ill," he interrupted harshly.

"No, Sire," I admitted.

"Then what is your excuse, M. le Marquis, for disobeying me to-day?"

"Sire, I ask your indulgence for the inexcusable," I said biting my lip, "I forgot."

He leaned forward in the chair, his eyes narrowing as he stared at me.

"Where were you," he demanded finally.

"With Mademoiselle de Laurier, Sire," I answered reluctantly.

There was a minute's silence, then he spoke in his softest voice: "We will detain you no longer, Monsieur."

Startled, I raised my head and looked at him incredulously. He smiled delicately.

"May I hope my apology is accepted, Sire," I asked gravely.

Still smiling, he opened his snuff box.

"Good-night, M. le Marquis," he said evenly.

I rose at once and drew back, at the door I looked at him again. He was flicking a little snuff from his ruffles, the smile lingering on his lips.

As I went down the hall, I heard the tinkle of his little bell that stood on the table beside him, and wondered idly whom he was calling. Some one else to amuse him probably, since he was angry with me.

It was almost a relief to be free from his troublesome favor; in a week I would marry Edmée and we would go to my home in the south of France.

The pleasant vision clung to my fancy; when I fell asleep that night, I dreamed of the old chateau and thought I saw my dearest love walking in the rose garden.

Even when I awoke it left a recollection of brightness and warmth. My first idea was that the sun was shining in my eyes, then I aroused myself suddenly. That was not possible, since my room faced the north.

Yet it was true, and rising on my elbow, I looked around me. To my complete amazement, I was in a strange room.

It was fairly large and luxuriously furnished, well-filled bookcases stood against the wall and a spinet littered with music occupied one corner. My clothes awaited me exactly as my valet arranged them every morning.

I rose and dressed in absolute bewilderment. My first impulse was to try the door; it was locked. Next I went to the window, which was heavily barred inside, and looked out eagerly. For a moment, I could not credit my senses; I was directly opposite Edmée's window. An explanation of the mystery commenced to appear to me and I laughed at my own stupidity. Of course it was the King. I had made him wait for me yesterday, he would make Edmée and me wait to-day. It was a day's confinement to be patiently borne, and smiling, I turned from the window. I thought I knew something of the King's jests.

About an hour later a little cabinet in the wall flew open, disclosing my breakfast, neatly arranged on a tray. I ate it, pour passer le temps. Afterwards, I took my place at the window and watched across the street.

The day dragged wearily, it seemed a thousand years before the sun moved from my panes and cast its level beams across Edmée's boxes of mignonette. A nearby steeple struck four o'clock before my patience had its reward.

She came straight to the window at last and looked down the narrow street, the sunlight glittering in her golden curls.

Seeing no one she drew a great armchair forward and seating herself, took up some dainty thing of colored silks, such as women love to weave in idle moments.

But every few stitches the little hands would pause and leaning forward, she would gaze in the direction from which I always came, resuming her work with a disappointment that went to my heart.

That she should love me so; me! How had I deserved such kindness of Heaven?

My breath came swiftly as I watched her, my beloved. I could not bear the idea of her suffering even the slightest vexation of an hour.

As the afternoon wore on, she finally abandoned her embroidery altogether and sat with wide gray eyes fixed on the darkening street. It was the first time since our engagement that I had not come.

At last someone seemed to call her from within, for she turned her head, then rose and with a last glance from the window, went away. Strangely depressed, I remained long at my post, half expecting to see her again. At midnight I flung myself on the bed and fell asleep.

When I awoke next morning it was with a wild hope that I had been returned to my own room, since the hateful sun was not shining in my eyes. But I was quickly undeceived and the patter of rain outside explained my mistake.

Sick at heart, I went back to my window. Surely the jest had lasted long enough. If I was kept prisoner another day what would Edmée think?

It was too much, and I struck my hands against the bars of the deep-set window in sudden anger and helplessness. I could do nothing, absolutely nothing. I would not have been more lost in the Bastile.

If yesterday had been long to-day was interminable. I tried in vain to read; every instant I started up expecting the door to open and to meet the King's ironical smile.

Fully an hour before her usual time, my dear love came to her window. I could imagine the anxiety in her sweet eyes as the afternoon slowly passed without bringing me, and I paced the room in feverish desperation. When dusk arrived at last and she turned dejectedly to go, I could stand it no longer.

"Edmée, Edmée," I cried with all my force. "Edmée, it is Philippe who calls. Edmée."

But she did not hear me, and I hid my face on my arms.

All that night I sat staring into the darkness, facing the thoughts I had vainly tried to thrust from my mind.

There was nothing to prevent the King from keeping me a prisoner forever; each week would blot me still more from people's memories. And he would not hesitate from any feeling of pity, that I knew. I might live and grow old and die inside these four walls.

I could have borne it but for Edmée; how could so gentle, so delicate a lady stand such suspense and anxiety?

My heart failed within me, it fails now as I think of that time. For freedom did not come. How can I write the anguish of those weeks when in the silence of despair I watched the color fade from my dear love's cheek and saw her ever lessening strength?

She scarcely left the window now, from sunrise to dark she kept her watch as I kept mine. What she thought I could not guess; almost I hoped that she would believe me false and so find strength in anger. Let no one say it is a happiness to know those you love will mourn your loss. I would have given my soul to be stamped out from her memory!

Well did the King know how I would suffer most.

One month after my imprisonment, when Edmée rose from her chair at the close of a long, hot day, she staggered and fell.

I saw her mother flash past as she rushed to her side, I felt the commotion in the room beyond, and I saw my love as she was borne away in her father's arms, her golden hair covering them both like a silken veil. I saw, and turning knelt before the crucifix, hiding my face in an agony of wordless supplication.

The next day I took up my watch again, opposite her empty window. On the table beside me lay my sword, the key to the gates through which I might have to seek my betrothed. I only waited the certainty that she had gone before me.

But once before the doctor came to the front of the room across the way, and so I knew she lived at least. Grimly I waited.

I was not ill, not for an hour had I the relief of unconsciousness. When I slept at my post from sheer exhaustion it was to dream of worse than the reality.

The summer slowly passed, the burning heat sank to pleasant coolness, and nearly three months after that last day Edmée came back. She was carried in her father's arms again, very white and thin, but Edmée, Edmée alive. And her first glance was down the street, for me. Helpless in that great reaction from despair, I leaned against the grating and felt the tears roll down my face.

After that I saw her every day, at first only for an hour, but longer and longer as she gained strength. Then of my gratitude to the Heaven which had spared her, I drew better thoughts. Since she waited with such sweet patience what right had I to waste health and sanity in weak rebellion?

I learned endurance; I forced myself to read the books in my room, to eat and sleep, until the mirror showed me something like my former self.

Winter came and went, rain took the place of the snow-flakes that floated past my barred window, too deeply set to show the street below. Edmée's fair face again looked across boxes of mignonette waving in the sun.

One afternoon, as I sat reading, I was startled by the sound of sliding bolts. The book fell from my hands as I listened, then when a second noise proved there was no mistake, I rose to receive my visitor. The next moment the door swung open and revealed a hussar on the threshold, who, saluting me, lifted the portiére. It was with an effort that I obeyed the familiar gesture and stepping forward passed into the room beyond.

On the other side of the door I stopped; seated opposite to me, smiling and placid, was the King.

I felt the slow wrath rise within me as I looked until it flooded my brain with bitter hatred and I clinched my hands to keep from killing him where he sat. Tense with the accumulated passion of months I faced him, and he met my gaze unflinchingly, tapping his snuff-box on the arm of his chair.

"My dear Marquis, let me suggest that you appear annoyed," he said at last.

I drew a long breath, struggling to regain my self-command in silence. He lifted his eyebrows:

"I fear your memory has suffered somewhat from retirement, Monsieur. This is hardly the customary manner of entering my presence."

"It is against my will I enter it now, Sire," I answered between my teeth. "I assure your Majesty that my prison is far more agreeable to me."

"And Mademoiselle?" he inquired gently.

Edmée indeed! Was I mad to cause her more weary months by yielding to my temper? Could I not sacrifice my pride even for her? I bent my head.

"It is a year since your regrettable forgetfulness, M. le Marquis," he continued. "I fear you are about to forget yourself again."

The quiet significance of his tone was not to be mistaken. I took a step forward and knelt.

"That is better. It would be truly desolating to separate myself another year from one whose society I so much prize. The whole court will welcome your return, mon cher; Mademoiselle surtout. All were amazed at your disappearance, but your journey will explain."

"My journey, Sire?" I exclaimed in surprise.

"Mais oui. You will acquaint them with the fact that your absence was caused by my sending you on a secret mission to Spain, a mission so delicate that it could not even be known you had left Paris."

"But why, Sire?" I demanded.

"Because I wish it so," was the cool reply.

"Has it occurred to your Majesty that such an explanation will scarcely satisfy Mademoiselle?" I asked bitterly.

A sardonic smile curled his thin lips.

"It will have to, Monsieur," he answered.

"Never, not if you send me back to my prison forever. Better she should believe me dead than guilty of such wanton cruelty," I said fiercely.

"I shall not send you back there, Marquis," he retorted. "There are other prisons where you will not be agitated by seeing Mademoiselle."

I rose slowly from my knee and looked at him. It was not enough to have tortured me for a year more ingeniously than the Inquisition itself, he must dishonor me before the woman I loved. A dizzying rage rushed over me, the room swam before my eyes, but quicker than my thought could act was he to read it, and at his gesture I found myself in the grasp of two gigantic negroes.

I made one ineffectual effort to free myself then flung back my head and faced him haughtily.

There was a little pause, he studied me through half-closed eyes, his slender yellow fingers laying with the order on his breast. When at last he spoke the change in his voice startled me the light mockery so habitual to him had given place to a new sternness and command.

"Philippe de Savigny," he said, "a year ago you were guilty of a deliberate discourtesy to me, a discourtesy for which any private gentleman would have called you to account. I gave you an opportunity to apologize, and you entered my presence with a smile on your lips, your whole bearing betraying how trivial seemed to you an insult to your sovereign. I punished you as was my right. You are my subject. Have you not deserved this, you whom I made my friend, Monsieur? But it is enough; I am satisfied, and we start anew from this moment. Are you going to sulk like a corrected child, or will you accept the lesson and take up your life where it stopped last year?"

"I have not complained for myself, Sire, but for Mademoiselle," I answered flushing.

"Take care you are not more cruel to Mademoiselle in your pride than I in my anger," he retorted.

"The warning is not needed, Sire," I said unsteadily, "I have yielded. Yet for Mademoiselle's sake I ask permission to tell her where this year's absence has been passed. How can I let her think that to win your Majesty's favor I left her suffer for months while I went to Spain?"

"Men have done more than that to win it," the King answered dryly, making a sign to the blacks to release me. "However, Marquis, I will grant your request. You are at liberty to tell Mademoiselle, and no one else. Let me suggest that by leaving at once you will reach her home at your usual hour. You will take part in our cards this evening at the palace, mon cher? Il n'y a que vous pour jouer."

I shuddered as I bent over his hand. "I am honored, Sire."