Part 24
But in vain did he try to make her understand his reasons, but in vain did d’Artagnan understand them, but in vain again did those two minds, so subtle and so inventive, give a turn to the adventure; for Malicorne there was no other recourse than to pass for having meant to enter Mlle de Montalais’s room, just as M. de Saint-Aignan had passed for having meant to force the door of Mlle de Tonnay-Charente.
Madame was inflexible, for this double reason: that if indeed M. Malicorne had meant to enter her rooms by night through the window and by means of a ladder, to see Montalais, it was on Malicorne’s part a punishable attempt which must be punished.
And, for this other reason, that if Malicorne, instead of acting in his own name, had acted as an intermediary between La Vallière and a person she would not name, his crime was far greater still, since passion, which excuses all, was not there to excuse him.
Madame therefore raised loud cries and had Malicorne driven from Monsieur’s household, without reflecting, poor blind woman, that Malicorne and Montalais held her in their claws by the visit to M. de Guiche and by many other equally delicate matters.
Montalais, furious, wished to be revenged at once; Malicorne demonstrated to her that the king’s favor was worth all the disgraces in the world, and that it was fine to suffer for the king.
Malicorne was right. So, though she was a woman, and rather ten times than once, he brought Montalais back to his opinion.
Then, on his side, let us hasten to say it, the king aided in the consolations.
First, he had fifty thousand livres counted out to Malicorne in compensation for his lost office.
Next, he placed him in his own household, happy to avenge himself thus upon Madame for all that she had made him and La Vallière endure.
But, having no longer Malicorne to steal his handkerchiefs and measure his ladders for him, the poor lover was destitute.
No hope of ever approaching La Vallière again, so long as she remained at the Palais-Royal.
All the dignities and all the sums in the world could not remedy that.
Fortunately, Malicorne was watchful.
He so contrived as to meet Montalais. It is true that, on her side, Montalais was doing her best to meet Malicorne.
“What do you do at night, in Madame’s rooms?” he asked the young girl.
“Why, at night I sleep,” she replied.
“How, you sleep?”
“Certainly.”
“But it is very wrong to sleep; it is not fitting that a girl, with a grief such as you feel, should sleep.”
“And what grief is it that I feel, then?”
“Are you not in despair at my absence?”
“But no, since you have received fifty thousand livres and an office with the king.”
“No matter, you are much afflicted at no longer seeing me as you used to see me; you are in despair above all that I have lost Madame’s confidence; is that true, that? Let us see.”
“Oh! that is quite true.”
“Well! this affliction keeps you from sleeping at night, and then you sob, you sigh, you blow your nose loudly, and that ten times a minute.”
“But, my dear Malicorne, Madame cannot bear the least noise in her rooms.”
“I know full well, the devil, that she can bear nothing; so I tell you that she will hasten, seeing so deep a grief, to turn you out of her house.”
“I understand.”
“That is fortunate.”
“But what will happen then?”
“What will happen is that La Vallière, seeing herself separated from you, will utter such groans and such lamentations in the night that she will make despair for two.”
“Then they will put her in another room.”
“Yes, but which one?”
“Which? There you are at a loss, Monsieur of Inventions.”
“Not at all; whatever that room may be, it will always be better than Madame’s.”
“That is true.”
“Well! begin me your Jeremiads a little tonight.”
“I shall not fail to.”
“And give my word to La Vallière.”
“Fear nothing, she weeps softly enough.”
“Well! let her weep aloud.”
And they parted.
Chapter CLXXII — Wherein Is Treated of Carpentry, and Wherein Are Given Some Details on the Fashion of Boring Through Staircases
The counsel given to Montalais was communicated to La Vallière, who recognized that it lacked wisdom, and who, after some resistance coming rather from her timidity than from her coldness, resolved to put it into execution.
This tale, of the two women weeping and filling Madame’s bedchamber with lamentable noises, was Malicorne’s masterpiece.
As nothing is so true as the improbable, so natural as the romantic, this sort of tale from the *Thousand and One Nights* succeeded perfectly with Madame.
She removed Montalais first.
Then, three days, or rather three nights, after removing Montalais, she removed La Vallière.
The latter was given a room in the small mansard apartments situated above the apartments of the gentlemen.
A floor, that is to say a plank ceiling, separated the young ladies from the officers and gentlemen.
A private staircase, placed under the surveillance of Mme de Navailles, led to their rooms.
For greater security, Mme de Navailles, who had heard spoken of His Majesty’s former attempts, had the windows of the rooms and the openings of the chimneys grated.
There was therefore every security for the honor of Mlle de La Vallière, whose chamber resembled a cage more than anything else.
Mlle de La Vallière, when she was in her room—and she was there often, Madame scarce making use of her services since she knew her to be safe under Mme de Navailles’s eye—Mlle de La Vallière had therefore no other distraction than to look through the grating of her window. Now, one morning as she looked as usual, she perceived Malicorne at a window parallel to hers.
He held in his hand a carpenter’s plumb-line, squinted at the buildings, and added up algebraic formulas on paper. He did not ill resemble those engineers who, from the corner of a trench, take the angles of a bastion or measure the height of a fortress wall.
La Vallière recognized Malicorne and greeted him.
Malicorne, in his turn, replied with a great bow and disappeared from the window.
She wondered at this sort of coldness, little usual to Malicorne’s always even temper; but she remembered that the poor boy had lost his place for her sake, and that he could not be in the best of dispositions toward her, since, in all probability, she would never be in a position to restore what he had lost.
She knew how to pardon offenses, still more to compassionate misfortune.
La Vallière would have asked counsel of Montalais, if Montalais had been there; but Montalais was absent.
It was the hour when Montalais did her correspondence.
Suddenly, La Vallière saw an object launched from the window where Malicorne had appeared cross the space, pass through her bars, and roll upon her floor.
She went curiously toward this object and picked it up. It was one of those bobbins on which silk is wound.
Only, instead of silk, a little paper was rolled about the bobbin.
La Vallière unrolled it and read:
“Mademoiselle,
“I am anxious to know two things:
“The first, whether the flooring of your apartment is of wood or of brick.
“The second, still, at what distance from the window your bed is placed.
“Excuse my importunity, and be pleased to make reply to me by the same means that brought you my letter, that is to say by the way of the bobbin.
“Only, instead of throwing it into my room as I threw it into yours, which would be more difficult for you than for me, have simply the kindness to let it fall.
“Believe me above all, Mademoiselle, your very humble and very respectful servant,
“Malicorne.
“Write the answer, if you please, upon the letter itself.”
“Ah! the poor boy,” cried La Vallière, “he must have gone mad.”
And she directed toward her correspondent, who was dimly visible in the shadow of the room, a glance full of affectionate compassion.
Malicorne understood, and shook his head as if to answer her:
“No, no, I am not mad, be at ease.”
She smiled with an air of doubt.
“No, no,” he repeated with a gesture, “the head is sound.”
And he showed his head.
Then, waving his hand like a man writing rapidly:
“Come, write,” he mimed with a sort of entreaty.
La Vallière, mad or not, saw no inconvenience in doing what Malicorne asked of her; she took a pencil and wrote: “Wood.”
Then she counted ten paces from the window to her bed, and wrote again: “Ten paces.”
This done, she looked toward Malicorne, who saluted her and made sign that he was going down.
La Vallière understood that it was to receive the bobbin.
She approached the window, and, conformably to Malicorne’s instructions, she let it fall.
The roll was still running upon the flags when Malicorne sprang forward, reached it, picked it up, began to pick it apart like a monkey a nut, and ran first toward the dwelling of M. de Saint-Aignan.
De Saint-Aignan had chosen, or rather solicited, his lodging as near as possible to the king, like those plants which seek the rays of the sun to develop more fruitfully.
His lodging was composed of two rooms, in the very wing occupied by Louis XIV.
M. de Saint-Aignan was proud of this proximity, which gave him easy access to His Majesty, and, moreover, the favor of some unexpected encounters.
He was occupied, at the moment we speak of him, in having these two rooms magnificently hung with tapestry, counting upon the honor of some visits from the king, for His Majesty, since his passion for La Vallière, had chosen de Saint-Aignan for confidant, and could not do without him either night or day.
Malicorne had himself announced to the count and met with no difficulties, because he was well seen of the king, and the credit of the one is always a bait for the other.
De Saint-Aignan asked the visitor if he was rich in some news.
“In a great one,” answered the latter.
“Ah! ah!” said de Saint-Aignan, curious as a favorite; “which?”
“Mlle de La Vallière has moved.”
“How so?” said de Saint-Aignan, opening wide his eyes.
“Yes.”
“She lodged with Madame.”
“Precisely. But Madame grew weary of the neighborhood and installed her in a room which happens to be exactly above your future apartment.”
“How, *up there?*” cried de Saint-Aignan with surprise, pointing with his finger to the upper floor.
“No,” said Malicorne, “*over there*.”
And he showed him the building situated opposite.
“Why do you say then that her room is above my apartment?”
“Because I am certain that your apartment must quite naturally be beneath La Vallière’s room.”
De Saint-Aignan, at these words, sent in the direction of poor Malicorne one of those glances such as La Vallière had already sent him one, a quarter of an hour before. That is to say, he believed him mad.
“Monsieur,” said Malicorne to him, “I ask leave to answer your thought.”
“How! my thought?...”
“Doubtless; you have not understood, it seems to me, perfectly what I meant.”
“I confess it.”n “Well! you are not ignorant that below Madame’s maids of honor are lodged the gentlemen of the king and of Monsieur.”
“Yes, since Manicamp, de Wardes, and others lodge there.”
“Precisely. Well! monsieur, admire the singularity of the encounter: the two rooms destined for M. de Guiche are just the two rooms situated below those occupied by Mlle de Montalais and Mlle de La Vallière.”
“Well! after?”
“Well! after... these two rooms are free, since M. de Guiche, wounded, is ill at Fontainebleau.”
“I swear to you, my dear monsieur, that I do not guess.”
“Ah! if I had the happiness to be called de Saint-Aignan, I should guess it at once, myself.”
“And what would you do?”
“I would immediately exchange the rooms I occupy here for those M. de Guiche does not occupy over there.”
“Do you think of it?” said de Saint-Aignan with disdain; “abandon the first post of honor, the neighborhood of the king, a privilege granted only to princes of the blood, to dukes and peers?... But, my dear monsieur de Malicorne, allow me to tell you that you are mad.”
“Monsieur,” answered the young man gravely, “you commit two errors... I am called Malicorne plain, and I am not mad.”
Then, drawing a paper from his pocket:
“Listen to this,” said he; “after which, I will show you that.”
“I listen,” said de Saint-Aignan.
“You know that Madame watches over La Vallière as Argus watched over the nymph Io.”
“I know it.”
“You know that the king has wished, but in vain, to speak to the prisoner, and that neither you nor I have succeeded in procuring him that fortune.”
“You know something of it especially, you, my poor Malicorne.”
“Well! what do you suppose would happen to him whose imagination should bring the two lovers together?”
“Oh! the king would not bound his gratitude at little.”
“Monsieur de Saint-Aignan!...”
“After?”
“Would you not be curious to taste a little of the royal gratitude?”
“Certainly,” answered de Saint-Aignan, “a favor from my master, when I should have done my duty, could only be precious to me.”
“Then, look at this paper, monsieur le comte.”
“What is this paper? a plan?”
“That of the two rooms of M. de Guiche, which, in all probability, are about to become your two rooms.”
“Oh! no, whatever happens.”
“Why so?”
“Because my two rooms, mine, are coveted by too many gentlemen whom I certainly would not abandon them to: by M. de Roquelaure, by M. de La Ferté, by M. Dangeau.”
“Then, I leave you, monsieur le comte, and go to offer one of these gentlemen the plan I presented to you and the advantages annexed thereto.”
“But why do you not keep them for yourself?” asked de Saint-Aignan distrustfully.
“Because the king will never do me the honor of coming openly to my house, whereas he will go marvelously to one of these gentlemen’s.”
“What! the king will go to one of these gentlemen’s?”
“Pardieu! if he will go? ten times to one. How! you ask me if the king will go into an apartment which will bring him near Mlle de La Vallière!”
“Fine nearness... with a whole floor between.”
Malicorne unfolded the little paper from the bobbin.
“Monsieur le comte,” said he, “observe, I pray you, that the flooring of Mlle de La Vallière’s room is a simple wooden parquet.”
“Well?”
“Well, you will take a carpenter who, shut up in your rooms without knowing where he is taken, will open your ceiling and, consequently, the parquet of Mlle de La Vallière.”
“Ah! my God!” cried de Saint-Aignan as if dazzled.
“What say you?” said Malicorne.
“I say that is a bold idea, monsieur.”
“It will seem mean enough to the king, I assure you.”
“Lovers reflect not upon danger.”
“What danger do you fear, monsieur le comte?”
“But such a boring through, it is a frightful noise, the whole castle will ring with it?”
“Oh! monsieur le comte, I am sure, I, that the workman I shall designate to you will make not the least noise. He will saw a quadrilateral of six feet with a saw stuffed with tow, and no one, even of the nearest, will perceive that he is working.”
“Ah! my dear monsieur Malicorne, you dizzy me, you overwhelm me.”
“I continue,” answered Malicorne tranquilly: “in the room whose ceiling you have pierced, you will hear well, will you not?”
“Yes.”
“You will erect a staircase which will permit either Mlle de La Vallière to descend to you, or the king to mount to Mlle de La Vallière.”
“But this staircase, it will be seen?”
“No, for, on your side, it will be hidden by a partition upon which you will spread a tapestry like that which furnishes the rest of the apartment; at Mlle de La Vallière’s, it will disappear under a trap which will be the parquet itself, and which will open beneath the bed.”
“Indeed,” said de Saint-Aignan, whose eyes began to sparkle.
“Now, monsieur le comte, I need not make you confess that the king will often come into the room where such a staircase is established. I believe that M. Dangeau, particularly, will be struck by my idea, and I go to develop it to him.”
“Ah! dear monsieur Malicorne!” cried de Saint-Aignan, “you forget that it is to me you spoke of it first, and that, consequently, I have the rights of priority.”
“Will you then the preference?”
“If I will! I should think so!”
“The fact is, monsieur de Saint-Aignan, that this is a cordon for the first promotion that I give you there, and perhaps even some good duchy.”
“It is, at least,” answered de Saint-Aignan red with pleasure, “an occasion to show the king that he is not wrong to call me sometimes his friend, occasion, dear monsieur Malicorne, which I shall owe to you.”
“You will not forget it a little?” asked Malicorne smiling.
“I shall glory in it, monsieur.”
“I, monsieur, am not the king’s friend, I am his servant.”
“Yes, and, if you think there is a blue cordon for me in this staircase, I think there will well be for you a roll of letters of nobility.”
Malicorne bowed.
“It is now only a matter of moving,” said de Saint-Aignan.
“I see not that the king opposes it; ask him leave.”
“This instant I run to him.”
“And I, I go to procure the workman we need.”
“When shall I have him?”
“This evening.”
“Forget not the precautions.”
“I bring him to you blindfolded.”
“And I, I send you one of my coaches.”
“Without arms.”
“With one of my lackeys without livery, it is agreed.”
“Very well, monsieur le comte.”
“But La Vallière.”
“Well?”
“What will she say on seeing the operation?”
“I assure you it will interest her much.”
“I believe it.”
“I am even sure that, if the king has not the boldness to mount to her, she will have the curiosity to descend.”
“Let us hope,” said de Saint-Aignan.
“Yes, let us hope,” repeated Malicorne.
“I go then to the king.”
“And you do marvelously.”
“At what hour this evening my workman?”
“At eight o’clock.”
“And how much time do you estimate he will need to saw his quadrilateral?”
“Why, two hours, about; only, afterward, he will need time to finish what is called the joinings. A night and part of the next day: it is two days that must be counted with the staircase.”
“Two days, that is long.”
“Why! when one meddles with opening a door upon paradise, at least that door must be decent.”
“You are right; till soon, dear monsieur Malicorne. My moving will be ready for the day after tomorrow in the evening.”
Chapter CLXXIII — The Torchlight Walk
De Saint-Aignan, delighted at what he had just heard, enchanted at what he foresaw, took his course toward the two rooms of de Guiche.
He who, a quarter of an hour before, would not have given his two rooms for a million, was ready to buy, for a million, if he had been asked, the two blessed rooms he now coveted.
But he met not so many demands there. M. de Guiche knew not yet where he was to lodge, and, besides, was still too suffering to occupy himself with his lodging.
De Saint-Aignan therefore had the two rooms of de Guiche. On his side, M. Dangeau had the two rooms of de Saint-Aignan, for a tip of six thousand livres to the count’s steward, and believed he had made a golden bargain.
The two rooms of Dangeau became the future lodging of de Guiche.
The whole, without our being able to affirm very surely that, in this general moving, these are the two rooms de Guiche will inhabit.
As for M. Dangeau, he was so transported with joy, that he did not even take the trouble to suppose that de Saint-Aignan had an interest superior to moving.
An hour after this new resolution taken by de Saint-Aignan, de Saint-Aignan was therefore in possession of the two rooms. Ten minutes after de Saint-Aignan was in possession of the two rooms, Malicorne entered de Saint-Aignan’s accompanied by the tapestry-hangers.
During this time the king asked for de Saint-Aignan; they ran to de Saint-Aignan’s, and found Dangeau; Dangeau sent them to de Guiche’s, and they found at last de Saint-Aignan.
But there was delay, so that the king had already given two or three movements of impatience when de Saint-Aignan entered quite out of breath into his master’s presence.
“You abandon me then also, you?” said Louis XIV to him, in that lamentable tone with which Caesar must, eighteen hundred years before, have said the *Tu quoque*.
“Sire,” said de Saint-Aignan, “I abandon not the king, quite the contrary; only, I occupy myself with my moving.”
“With what moving? I thought your moving finished these three days.”
“Yes, Sire. But I find myself ill where I am, and I pass into the wing opposite.”
“When I told you that you also abandon me!” cried the king. “Oh! but this passes bounds. Thus I had but one woman my heart cared for, all my family leagues to tear her from me. I had a friend to whom I confided my pains and who helped me bear the weight, this friend wearies of my complaints and leaves me without even asking leave.”
De Saint-Aignan began to laugh.
The king guessed there was some mystery in this want of respect.
“What is there?” cried the king full of hope.
“There is, Sire, that this friend, whom the king calumniates, is going to try to render to his king the happiness he has lost.”
“You are going to make me see La Vallière?” said Louis XIV.
“Sire, I answer not for it yet, but...”
“But?...”
“But I hope for it.”
“Oh! how? how? Tell me this, de Saint-Aignan. I wish to know your project, I wish to aid you in it with all my power.”
“Sire,” answered de Saint-Aignan, “I know not yet well myself how I shall go about to arrive at that end; but I have every reason to believe that, from tomorrow...”
“Tomorrow, say you?”
“Yes, Sire.”
“Oh! what happiness! But why do you move?”
“To serve you better.”
“And in what, being moved, can you serve me better?”
“Do you know where the two rooms destined for the Count de Guiche are situated.”
“Yes.”
“Then, you know where I go.”
“Doubtless; but that advances me nothing.”
“How! you do not understand, Sire, that above that lodging are two rooms?”
“Which?”
“The one, that of Mlle de Montalais, and the other...”
“The other, it is that of La Vallière, de Saint-Aignan?”
“Come, Sire.”
“Oh! de Saint-Aignan, it is true, yes, it is true. De Saint-Aignan, it is a happy idea, an idea of a friend, of a poet; in bringing me near her, when the universe separates me from her, you are worth more to me than Pylades to Orestes, than Patroclus to Achilles.”
“Sire,” said de Saint-Aignan with a smile, “I doubt that, if His Majesty knew my projects in all their extent, he would continue to give me so pompous qualifications. Ah! Sire, I know baser ones which certain puritans of the Court will not fail to apply to me when they know what I count to do for Your Majesty.
“Stories of the world, in your language.”