The Refugees by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle — Read

Often had De Montespan feigned a faint in the days when she wished to / disarm the anger of the king. So she had drawn his arms round her, and / won the pity which is the twin sister of love. But now she knew what it / was to have the senses struck out of her by a word. She could not doubt / the truth of what she heard. There was that in her rival's face, in her / steady eye, in her quiet voice, which carried absolute conviction with / it. She stood stunned for an instant, panting, her outstretched hands / feeling at the air, her defiant eyes dulling and glazing. Then, with a / short sharp cry, the wail of one who has fought hard and yet knows that / she can fight no more, her proud head drooped, and she fell forward / senseless at the feet of her rival. Madame de Maintenon stooped and / raised her up in her strong white arms. There was true grief and pity / in her eyes as she looked down at the snow-pale face which lay against / her bosom, all the bitterness and pride gone out of it, and nothing left / save the tear which sparkled under the dark lashes, and the petulant / droop of the lip, like that of a child which had wept itself to sleep. / She laid her on the ottoman and placed a silken cushion under her head. / Then she gathered together and put back into the open cupboard all the / jewels which were scattered about the carpet. Having locked it, and / placed the key on the table where its owner's eye would readily fall / upon it, she struck a gong, which summoned the little black page.

"Your mistress is indisposed," said she. "Go and bring her maids to / her. " And so, having done all that lay with her to do, she turned away / from the great silent room, where, amid the velvet and the gilding, her / beautiful rival lay like a crushed flower, helpless and hopeless.