Part 30

— A happy encounter, Sire, and, if I dared give Your Majesty a counsel, we should follow them.

— They are far off.

— Bah! they would easily be overtaken, especially if they know who it is that pursues them.

— How so, you impertinent fellow?

— Why! there is one who finds me to her taste, and the other who compared you to the sun.

— All the more reason we should remain hidden, Saint-Aignan. The sun does not show itself at night.

— Upon my faith! Sire, Your Majesty is not curious. In your place, I would wish to know who are the two nymphs, the two dryads, the two hamadryads who think so well of us.

— Oh! I shall recognize them well enough without running after them, I promise you that.

— And how so?

— Bless me! by the voice. They are of the court; and she who spoke of me had a charming voice.

— Ah! there is Your Majesty allowing yourself to be influenced by flattery.

— No one will say that is the method you employ, you.

— Oh! pardon, Sire, I am a fool.

— Come, let us go, and seek where I told you...

— And that passion of which you confided in me, Sire, is it then already forgotten?

— Oh! certainly not. How would you have one forget eyes like those of Mlle de La Vallière?

— Oh! the other has so charming a voice!

— Which one?

— The one who loves the sun.

— Monsieur de Saint-Aignan!

— Pardon, Sire.

— Besides, I am not displeased that you believe I love sweet voices as much as beautiful eyes. I know you, you are a dreadful chatterer, and tomorrow I shall pay for the confidence I placed in you.

— How so?

— I say that tomorrow everyone will know I have designs upon this little La Vallière; but take care, Saint-Aignan, I have confided my secret to you alone, and if a single person speaks to me of it, I shall know who betrayed my secret.

— Oh! what warmth, Sire!

— No, but, you understand, I do not wish to compromise that poor girl.

— Sire, fear nothing.

— You promise me?

— Sire, I give you my word.

"Good!" thought the king, laughing to himself, "tomorrow everyone will know I ran after La Vallière tonight."

Then, trying to get his bearings:

— Ah! but we are lost, said he.

— Oh! not dangerously so.

— Where does one go by this gate?

— To the Rond-Point, Sire.

— Where we were heading when we heard women's voices?

— Yes, Sire, and that end of conversation in which I had the honor to hear my name pronounced beside Your Majesty's.

— You return to that very often, Saint-Aignan.

— May Your Majesty pardon me, but I am delighted to know there is a woman thinking of me, without my knowing it and without my having done anything for it. Your Majesty does not understand that satisfaction, you whose rank and merit attract attention and compel love.

— Well! no, Saint-Aignan, believe me if you will, said the king, leaning familiarly on Saint-Aignan's arm, and taking the path he thought should lead him toward the castle, but that naive confidence, that wholly disinterested preference of a woman who perhaps will never draw my eyes... in a word, the mystery of this adventure piques me, and, in truth, if I were not so occupied with La Vallière...

— Oh! let that not stop Your Majesty, you have time before you.

— How so?

— They say La Vallière is very strict.

— You pique me, Saint-Aignan, I am impatient to find her again. Come, come.

The king lied; on the contrary, nothing was less urgent to him; but he had a role to play.

And he began to walk briskly. Saint-Aignan followed him, keeping a slight distance.

Suddenly, the king stopping, the courtier imitated his example.

— Saint-Aignan, said he, do you not hear sighs?

— I?

— Yes, listen.

— Indeed, and even cries, it seems to me.

— It is this way, said the king, indicating a direction.

— One would say tears, sobs of a woman, said M. de Saint-Aignan.

— Let us run!

And the king and the favorite, taking a small cross-path, ran through the grass.

As they advanced, the cries became more distinct.

— Help! help! said two voices.

The two young men redoubled their speed.

As they drew nearer, the sighs became cries.

— Help! help! they repeated.

And these cries doubled the rapidity of the king's run and his companion's.

Suddenly, on the slope of a ditch, beneath willows with disheveled branches, they caught sight of a woman on her knees holding another woman who had fainted.

A few steps away, a third was calling for help in the middle of the path.

On seeing the two gentlemen whose quality she did not know, the cries of the woman calling for help redoubled.

The king outstripped his companion, cleared the ditch, and found himself near the group at the moment when, from the end of the alley opening on the castle side, advanced a dozen persons attracted by the same cries that had attracted the king and M. de Saint-Aignan.

— What is the matter, young ladies? asked Louis.

— The king! cried Mlle de Montalais, abandoning in her astonishment the head of La Vallière, which fell entirely stretched upon the turf.

— Yes, the king. But that is no reason to abandon your companion. Who is she?

— It is Mlle de La Vallière, Sire.

— Mlle de La Vallière!

— Who has just fainted...

— Ah! my God, said the king, poor child! And quickly, quickly a surgeon!

But, with whatever eagerness the king had pronounced these words, he had not so well guarded himself that they should not appear, as well as the gesture accompanying them, a little cold to M. de Saint-Aignan, who had received the confidence of that great love with which the king was smitten.

— Saint-Aignan, continued the king, watch over Mlle de La Vallière, I pray you. Call a surgeon. As for me, I run to warn Madame of the accident that has just happened to her lady-in-waiting.

Indeed, while M. de Saint-Aignan occupied himself with having Mlle de La Vallière carried to the castle, the king darted forward, happy to find this occasion to draw near to Madame and to have to speak to her under a specious pretext.

Happily, a carriage was passing; they had the coachman stop, and the persons in it, having learned of the accident, hastened to yield their place to Mlle de La Vallière.

The current of air provoked by the rapidity of the drive promptly recalled the sick girl to life.

Arrived at the castle, she was able, though very weak, to descend from the carriage, and to gain, with the help of Athénaïs and Montalais, the interior of the apartments.

She was seated in a room adjoining the salons of the ground floor.

Then, as this accident had not produced much effect upon the walkers, the walk was resumed.

During this time, the king had found Madame beneath a quincunx; he had seated himself near her, and his foot gently sought that of the princess under her chair.

— Take care, Sire, said Henriette very low, you do not seem an indifferent man.

— Alas! answered Louis XIV on the same tone, I greatly fear we have made a compact beyond our strength.

Then, aloud:

— Do you know of the accident? said he.

— What accident?

— Oh! my God! on seeing you, I forgot I came expressly to tell you of it. Yet I am painfully affected by it; one of your ladies-in-waiting, poor La Vallière, has just lost consciousness.

— Ah! poor child, said the princess tranquilly; and on what account?

Then, in a low voice:

— But you are not thinking of it, Sire; you pretend to make believe a passion for this girl, and you remain here while she is dying yonder.

— Ah! madame, madame, said the king sighing, how much better than I you are in your role, and how you think of everything!

And he rose.

— Madame, said he rather loudly so that all might hear him, permit that I leave you; my uneasiness is great, and I wish to assure myself whether the cares have been given suitably.

And the king departed to return once more near La Vallière, while all the bystanders commented upon the king's words: "My uneasiness is great."

Chapter CXVII — The King's Secret

On the way, Louis met the Count de Saint-Aignan.

— Well! Saint-Aignan, asked he with affectation, how does the sick girl fare?

— But, Sire, stammered Saint-Aignan, I confess to my shame that I know not.

— How, you know not? said the king, feigning to take seriously this lack of regard for the object of his preference.

— Sire, pardon me; but I had just met one of our three talkers, and I confess it distracted me.

— Ah! you have found her? said the king quickly.

— The one who deigned to speak so advantageously of me, and, having found mine, I was seeking yours, Sire, when I had the happiness to meet Your Majesty.

— That is well; but, before all, Mlle de La Vallière, said the king, faithful to his role.

— Oh! what a beautiful, interesting creature, said Saint-Aignan, and how her fainting was one of luxury, since Your Majesty was occupied with her before that.

— And the name of your beauty, yours, Saint-Aignan, is it a secret?

— Sire, it should be a secret, and a very great one even; but for you, Your Majesty knows well there are no secrets.

— Her name then?

— It is Mlle de Tonnay-Charente.

— Is she beautiful?

— Above all, yes, Sire, and I recognized the voice that spoke my name so tenderly. Then I approached her, questioned as much as I could do amid the crowd, and she told me, suspecting nothing, that just now she was at the great oak with two friends, when the appearance of a wolf or a thief had frightened them and put them to flight.

— But, asked the king quickly, the name of her two friends?

— Sire, said Saint-Aignan, have me sent to the Bastille.

— Why that?

— Because I am a selfish fool. My surprise was so great at such a conquest and such a happy discovery, that I stopped there. Besides, I did not think that, preoccupied as she was with Mlle de La Vallière, Your Majesty attached very great importance to what she had heard; then Mlle de Tonnay-Charente left me precipitately to return to Mlle de La Vallière.

— Come, let us hope I shall have a chance equal to yours. Come, Saint-Aignan.

— My king is ambitious, as I see, and he will allow no conquest to escape him. Well! I promise him I shall search conscientiously, and, besides, by one of the three graces, the name of the others shall be known, and, by the name, the secret.

— Oh! I too, said the king; I need only hear her voice to recognize her. Come, let us break off on this and lead me near that poor La Vallière.

"Eh! but," thought Saint-Aignan, "here is truly a passion taking shape, and for this little girl, it is extraordinary; I should never have believed it."

And as, thinking this, he had shown the king the room into which they had conducted La Vallière, the king had entered.

Saint-Aignan followed him.

In a low room, near a large window opening onto the parterres, La Vallière, placed in a vast armchair, drew in long draughts the perfumed air of the night.

From her loosened bosom, the laces fell crumpled among the curls of her beautiful blond hair scattered upon her shoulders.

Her languishing eye, charged with ill-extinguished fires, drowned in great tears, lived no more than those beautiful visions of our dreams which pass all pale and all poetic before the closed eyes of the sleeper, half-opening their wings without moving them, their lips without uttering a sound.

This nacreous pallor of La Vallière had a charm that nothing could render; the suffering of mind and body had made to this sweet physiognomy a harmony of noble sorrow; the absolute inertia of her arms and her bust rendered her more like a dead woman than a living being; she seemed to hear neither the whisperings of her companions nor the distant noise that rose from the surroundings. She conversed with herself, and her beautiful long fine hands trembled from time to time as at the contact of invisible pressures. The king entered without her perceiving his arrival, so absorbed was she in her reverie.

He saw from afar that adorable face upon which the ardent moon poured the pure light of its silver lamp.

— My God! he cried with an involuntary fright, she is dead!

— No, no, Sire, said Montalais very low, she is better, on the contrary. Is it not so, Louise, that you are better?

La Vallière answered not.

— Louise, continued Montalais, it is the king who deigns to concern himself with your health.

— The king! cried Louise, suddenly straightening up, as if a fountain of flame had risen from her extremities to her heart, the king concerns himself with my health?

— Yes, said Montalais.

— The king is then here? said La Vallière, without daring to look about her.

— That voice! that voice! said Louis quickly to Saint-Aignan's ear.

— Eh! but, replied Saint-Aignan, Your Majesty is right, it is the lover of the sun.

— Hush! said the king.

Then, approaching La Vallière:

— You are unwell, mademoiselle? Just now, in the park, I even saw you faint. How did it come upon you?

— Sire, stammered the poor child, trembling and colorless, in truth, I could not say.

— You walked too much, said the king, and perhaps the fatigue...

— No, Sire, replied Montalais quickly, answering for her friend, it cannot be fatigue, for we spent part of the evening seated beneath the royal oak.

— Beneath the royal oak? resumed the king, trembling. I was not mistaken, and it is indeed that.

And he addressed the count a look of intelligence.

— Ah! yes, said Saint-Aignan, beneath the royal oak, with Mlle de Tonnay-Charente.

— How do you know that? asked Montalais.

— But I know it in a very simple way; Mlle de Tonnay-Charente told me.

— Then she must have taught you also the cause of La Vallière's fainting?

— Why! she spoke to me of a wolf or a thief, I no longer quite know which.

La Vallière listened with fixed eyes, her breast panting as if she had presaged part of the truth, thanks to a redoubling of intelligence. Louis took this attitude and this agitation for the sequel of an ill-extinguished fright.

— Fear nothing, mademoiselle, said he with a beginning of emotion he could not hide; that wolf which so greatly frightened you was simply a wolf on two feet.

— It was a man! it was a man! cried Louise; there was a man there listening?

— Well! mademoiselle, what great harm do you see in having been listened to? Would you have said, in your view, things that could not be heard?

La Vallière struck her two hands one against the other and carried them quickly to her brow, which she tried thus to hide the redness of.

— Oh! she asked, in the name of Heaven, who then was hidden? who then has heard?

The king advanced to take one of her hands.

— It was I, mademoiselle, said he, inclining himself with a sweet respect; would I by chance frighten you?

La Vallière uttered a great cry; for the second time, her strength abandoned her, and cold, moaning, despairing, she fell all of a piece back into her armchair.

The king had time to extend his arm, so that she found herself half-supported by him.

Two steps from the king and La Vallière, Mlles de Tonnay-Charente and de Montalais, immobile and as if petrified at the remembrance of their conversation with La Vallière, thought not even of bringing her aid, held back as they were by the presence of the king, who, one knee to the ground, held La Vallière about the body.

— You heard, Sire? murmured Athénaïs.

But the king answered not; he had his eyes fixed upon the half-closed eyes of La Vallière; he held her hanging hand in his hand.

— Bless me! replied Saint-Aignan, who hoped on his side for the fainting of Mlle de Tonnay-Charente, and who advanced with open arms, we have not even lost a word of it.

But the proud Athénaïs was not a woman to faint thus; she launched a terrible glance at Saint-Aignan and fled.

Montalais, more courageous, advanced quickly toward Louise and received her from the king's hands, who already was losing his head in feeling his face inundated by the perfumed hair of the dying girl.

— That is well, said Saint-Aignan, here is an adventure, and, if I am not the first to tell it, I shall be unlucky.

The king approached him, his voice trembling, his hand furious.

— Count, said he, not a word.

The poor king forgot that an hour before he had made the same recommendation to the same man, with the wholly opposite desire, that is to say, that this man should be indiscreet.

Also this recommendation was as superfluous as the first.

A half-hour later, all Fontainebleau knew that Mlle de La Vallière had had beneath the royal oak a conversation with Montalais and Tonnay-Charente, and that in this conversation she had avowed her love for the king.

It was known also that the king, after having manifested all the uneasiness that the state of Mlle de La Vallière inspired in him, had grown pale and trembled in receiving in his arms the beautiful fainter; so that it was well established, among all the courtiers, that the greatest event of the epoch had just been revealed; that His Majesty loved Mlle de La Vallière, and that, consequently, Monsieur might sleep in perfect tranquillity.

This, moreover, is what the queen mother, as surprised as the others at this abrupt reversal, hastened to declare to the young queen and to Philippe d'Orléans.

Only, she operated in a very different fashion in attacking these two interests.

To her daughter-in-law:

— See, Thérèse, said she, if you were not greatly wrong to accuse the king; see, they give him today a new mistress; why should today's be truer than yesterday's, and yesterday's than today's?

And to Monsieur, in relating to him the adventure of the royal oak:

— Are you absurd in your jealousies, my dear Philippe? It is ascertained that the king loses his head for this little La Vallière. Do not go speaking of it to your wife: the queen would know it at once.

This last confidence had its immediate ricochet.

Monsieur, reassured, triumphant, came to find his wife, and, as it was not yet midnight and the feast was to last until two in the morning, he offered her his hand for the walk.

But, after a few steps, the first thing he did was to disobey his mother.

— Do not go telling the queen, at least, all that is said of the king, said he mysteriously.

— And what is said? asked Madame.

— That my brother had suddenly been smitten with a strange passion.

— For whom?

— For this little La Vallière.

It was night; Madame could smile at her ease.

— Ah! said she, and since when has it held him?

— For some days, it appears. But it was only smoke, and it is only this evening that the flame has revealed itself.

— The king has good taste, said Madame, and in my opinion the little one is charming.

— You seem to me to be mocking, my dearest.

— I! and how so?

— In any case, this passion will always make the happiness of someone, were it only that of La Vallière.

— But, resumed the princess, in truth, you speak, monsieur, as if you had read to the bottom of my lady-in-waiting's soul. Who told you she consents to answer the king's passion?

— And who tells you, you, that she will not answer it?

— She loves the Vicomte de Bragelonne.

— Ah! you believe so?

— She is even his betrothed.

— She was.

— How so?

— Why, when they came to ask the king permission to conclude the marriage, he refused that permission.

— Refused?

— Yes, though it was to the Count de La Fère himself, whom the king honors, you know, with a great esteem for the role he played in the restoration of your brother, and in some other events besides, arrived at long ago.

— Well! the poor lovers will wait until it pleases the king to change his mind; they are young, they have time.

— Ah! my dear, said Philippe, laughing in his turn, I see you do not know the finest of the affair.

— No.

— What has most profoundly touched the king.

— The king has been profoundly touched?

— At the heart.

— But by what? Speak quickly, come now!

— By an adventure as romantic as can be.

— You know how I love those adventures, and you make me wait, said the princess with impatience.

— Well! here it is...

And Monsieur made a pause.

— I listen.

— Beneath the royal oak... You know where the royal oak is?

— Little matters: beneath the royal oak, you say?

— Well! Mlle de La Vallière, believing herself alone with two friends, confided to them her passion for the king.

— Ah! made Madame with a beginning of uneasiness, her passion for the king?

— Yes.

— And when was that?

— An hour ago.

Madame trembled.

— And this passion, no one knew it?

— No one.

— Not even His Majesty?

— Not even His Majesty. The little person kept her secret between skin and flesh, when suddenly her secret grew stronger than she and escaped her.

— And from whom do you hold this absurdity?

— Why, like everyone.

— From whom does everyone hold it, then?

— From La Vallière herself, who was avowing this love to Montalais and to Tonnay-Charente, her companions.

Madame stopped, and, by a brusque movement, let go her husband's hand.

— She made this avowal an hour ago? asked Madame.

— About that.

— And has the king knowledge of it?

— But there is just where the romantic part of the thing lies, that the king was with Saint-Aignan behind the royal oak, and that he heard all this interesting conversation without losing a single word.

Madame felt herself struck a blow at the heart.

— But I have seen the king since, said she heedlessly, and he has not said a word of all that to me.

— Bless me! said Monsieur, naive as a triumphant husband, he would not have dared speak of it to you himself, since he was recommending to everyone not to speak of it to you.

— What's that? cried Madame, irritated.

— I say they wished to smuggle the thing past you.

— And why hide from me?

— In fear that your friendship might lead you to reveal something to the young queen, that is all.

Madame lowered her head; she was mortally wounded.

Then she had no rest until she had met the king.

As a king is naturally the last in the kingdom to know what is said of him, as a lover is the only one who does not know what is said of his mistress, when the king perceived Madame who was seeking him, he came to her a little troubled, but always eager and gracious.

“Stories of the world, in your language.”