“I recognize Your Majesty’s great generosity of disposition in that act.”
“So, Saint-Aignan, we will cease to occupy ourselves with these matters any longer,” said Louis.
“Yes, we will digest the affront, sire,” replied the courtier, with resignation.
“Besides, it will be an easy matter to do so,” said the king, checking a sigh.
“And, by way of a beginning, I will set about the composition of an epigram upon all three of them. I will call it ‘The Naiad and Dryad,’ which will please Madame.”
“Do so, Saint-Aignan, do so,” said the king, indifferently. “You shall read me your verses; they will amuse me. Ah! it does not signify, Saint-Aignan,” added the king, like a man breathing with difficulty, “the blow requires more than human strength to support in a dignified manner.” As the king thus spoke, assuming an air of the most angelic patience, one of the servants in attendance knocked gently at the door. Saint-Aignan drew aside, out of respect.
“Come in,” said the king. The servant partially opened the door. “What is it?” inquired Louis.
The servant held out a letter of a triangular shape. “For Your Majesty,” he said.
“From whom?”
“I do not know. One of the officers on duty gave it to me.”
The valet, in obedience to a gesture of the king, handed him the letter. The king advanced towards the candles, opened the note, read the signature, and uttered a loud cry. Saint-Aignan was sufficiently respectful not to look on; but, without looking on, he saw and heard all, and ran towards the king, who with a gesture dismissed the servant. “Oh, heavens!” said the king, as he read the note.
“Is Your Majesty unwell?” inquired Saint-Aignan, stretching forward his arms.
“No, no, Saint-Aignan—read!” and he handed him the note.
Saint-Aignan’s eyes fell upon the signature. “La Vallière!” he exclaimed. “Oh, sire!”
“Read, read!”
And Saint-Aignan read:
“Forgive my importunity, sire; and forgive, also, the absence of the formalities which may be wanting in this letter. A note seems to be more speedy and more urgent than a dispatch. I venture, therefore, to address this note to Your Majesty. I have retired to my own room, overcome with grief and fatigue, sire; and I implore Your Majesty to grant me the favor of an audience, which will enable me to confess the truth to my sovereign.
“Well?” asked the king, taking the letter from Saint-Aignan’s hands, who was completely bewildered by what he had just read.
“Well!” repeated Saint-Aignan.
“What do you think of it?”
“I hardly know.”
“Still, what is your opinion?”
“Sire, the young lady must have heard the muttering of the thunder, and has got frightened.”
“Frightened at what?” asked Louis with dignity.
“Why, Your Majesty has a thousand reasons to be angry with the author or authors of so hazardous a joke; and, if Your Majesty’s memory were to be awakened in a disagreeable sense, it would be a perpetual menace hanging over the head of this imprudent girl.”
“Saint-Aignan, I do not think as you do.”
“Your Majesty doubtless sees more clearly than myself.”
“Well! I see affliction and restraint in these lines; more particularly since I recall some of the details of the scene which took place this evening in Madame’s apartments—” The king suddenly stopped, leaving his meaning unexpressed.
“In fact,” resumed Saint-Aignan, “Your Majesty will grant an audience; nothing is clearer than that.”
“I will do better, Saint-Aignan.”
“What is that, sire?”
“Put on your cloak.”
“But, sire—”
“You know the suite of rooms where Madame’s maids of honor are lodged?”
“Certainly.”
“You know some means of obtaining an entrance there.”
“As far as that is concerned, I do not.”
“At all events, you must be acquainted with someone there.”
“Really, Your Majesty is the source of every good idea.”
“You do know someone, then. Who is it?”
“I know a certain gentleman, who is on very good terms with a certain young lady there.”
“One of the maids of honor?”
“Yes, sire.”
“With Mademoiselle de Tonnay-Charente, I suppose?” said the king, laughing.
“Fortunately, no, sire; with Montalais.”
“What is his name?”
“Malicorne.”
“And you can depend on him?”
“I believe so, sire. He ought to have a key of some sort in his possession; and if he should happen to have one, as I have done him a service, why, he will let us have it.”
“Nothing could be better. Let us set off immediately.”
The king threw his cloak over Saint-Aignan’s shoulders, asked him for his, and both went out into the vestibule.
134
Something That Neither Naiad nor Dryad Foresaw
Saint-Aignan stopped at the foot of the staircase leading to the entresol, where the maids of honor were lodged, and to the first floor, where Madame’s apartments were situated. Then, by means of one of the servants who was passing, he sent to apprise Malicorne, who was still with Monsieur. After having waited ten minutes, Malicorne arrived, full of self-importance. The king drew back towards the darkest part of the vestibule. Saint-Aignan, on the contrary, advanced to meet him, but at the first words, indicating his wish, Malicorne drew back abruptly.
“Oh, oh!” he said, “you want me to introduce you into the rooms of the maids of honor?”
“Yes.”
“You know very well that I cannot do anything of the kind, without being made acquainted with your object.”
“Unfortunately, my dear Monsieur Malicorne, it is quite impossible for me to give you any explanation; you must therefore confide in me as in a friend who got you out of a great difficulty yesterday, and who now begs you to draw him out of one today.”
“Yet I told you, Monsieur, what my object was; which was, not to sleep out in the open air, and any man might express the same wish, whilst you, however, admit nothing.”
“Believe me, my dear Monsieur Malicorne,” Saint-Aignan persisted, “that if I were permitted to explain myself, I would do so.”
“In that case, my dear Monsieur, it is impossible for me to allow you to enter Mademoiselle de Montalais’s apartment.”
“Why so?”
“You know
