reception. Her young husband is tall and fair, with a pleasant,
distinguished face; he loves his wife, and is only moderately beloved in
return. Is she wrong or is she right? Now, I will tell you. The
monarch is well-made, but a childish infirmity has left one whole side of
him somewhat weak, and he limps. Mademoiselle d'Aumale, or to speak more
correctly, the Queen of Portugal, writes letter upon letter to me,
describing her situation. She believed herself pregnant, and had even
announced the news to Madame de Vendome, as well as to Madame de Savoie,
her sister. Now it appears that this is not the case. She is vexed and
disgusted. I am about to join her at Lisbon. She is inclined to place
the crown upon the young brother of the King, requesting the latter to
seek the seclusion of a monastery. I can see that this new idea of the
youthful Queen's will necessitate my visiting the Vatican. Allow me,
madame, to have charge of your interests. Do not have the slightest fear
but that I shall protect them zealously and intelligently, killing thus
two birds with one stone."

"Pray accept my humble thanks," I replied to the Bishop. "The reigning
Sovereign Pontiff has never shown me any favour whatever, and is in
nowise one of my friends. What you desire to do for me at Rome deserves
some signal mark of gratitude in return, but I cannot get you a
cardinal's hat, for a thousand reasons.

"Mademoiselle de Nemours, when leaving us, promised to hate me as long as
she lived, and to have me burnt at an 'auto da fe' whenever she got the
chance. Do not let her know that you have any regard for me, or you
might lose her affection.

"I hope that the weak side of her husband, the King, may get stronger,
and that you will not help to put the young monarch in a convent of