Chapter 38

Chapter XXXVIII:
What Was Caught after the Butterflies.

The two young people remained for a moment with their heads bent down,
bowed, as it were, beneath the double thought of the love which was
springing up in their hearts, and which gives birth to so many happy
fancies in the imaginations of twenty years of age. Henrietta gave a
side glance, from time to time, at the king. Hers was one of those
finely-organized natures capable of looking inwardly at itself, as well
as at others at the same moment. She perceived Love lying at the bottom
of Louis's heart, as a skillful diver sees a pearl at the bottom of the
sea. She knew Louis was hesitating, if not in doubt, and that his
indolent or timid heart required aid and encouragement. "And so?" she
said, interrogatively, breaking the silence.

"What do you mean?" inquired Louis, after a moment's pause.

"I mean, that I shall be obliged to return to the resolution I had
formed."

"To what resolution?"

"To that which I have already submitted to your majesty."

"When?"

"On the very day we had a certain explanation about Monsieur's
jealousies."

"What did you say to me then?" inquired Louis, with some anxiety.

"Do you not remember, sire?"

"Alas! if it be another cause of unhappiness, I shall recollect it soon
enough."

"A cause of unhappiness for myself alone, sire," replied Madame
Henrietta; "but as it is necessary, I must submit to it."

"At least, tell me what it is," said the king.

"Absence."

"Still that unkind resolve?"

"Believe me, sire, I have not found it without a violent struggle with
myself; it is absolutely necessary I should return to England."

"Never, never will I permit you to leave France," exclaimed the king.

"And yet, sire," said Madame, affecting a gentle yet sorrowful
determination, "nothing is more urgently necessary; nay, more than that,
I am persuaded it is your mother's desire I should do so."

"Desire!" exclaimed the king; "that is a very strange expression to use
to me."

"Still," replied Madame Henrietta, smilingly, "are you not happy in
submitting to the wishes of so good a mother?"

"Enough, I implore you; you rend my very soul."

"I?"

"Yes; for you speak of your departure with tranquillity."

"I was not born for happiness, sire," replied the princess, dejectedly;
"and I acquired, in very early life, the habit of seeing my dearest
wishes disappointed."

"Do you speak truly?" said the king. "Would your departure gainsay any
one of your cherished thoughts?"

"If I were to say 'yes,' would you begin to take your misfortune
patiently?"

"How cruel you are!"

"Take