The king did not reply, for he was still too much overcome. Saint-Aignan thought it was his duty again to retire, for he observed the passionate devotion which was displayed in the king’s gaze. La Vallière rose.
“And now, sire, that I have justified myself, at least I trust so, in Your Majesty’s eyes, grant me leave to retire into a convent. I shall bless Your Majesty all my life, and I shall die thanking and loving Heaven for having granted me one hour of perfect happiness.”
“No, no,” replied the king, “you will live here blessing Heaven, on the contrary, but loving Louis, who will make your existence one of perfect felicity—Louis who loves you—Louis who swears it.”
“Oh! sire, sire!”
And upon this doubt of La Vallière, the king’s kisses became so warm that Saint-Aignan thought it was his duty to retire behind the tapestry. These kisses, however, which she had not the strength at first to resist, began to intimidate the young girl.
“Oh! sire,” she exclaimed, “do not make me repeat my loyalty, for this would show me that Your Majesty despises me still.”
“Mademoiselle de La Vallière,” said the king, suddenly, drawing back with an air full of respect, “there is nothing in the world that I love and honor more than yourself, and nothing in my court, I call Heaven to witness, shall be so highly regarded as you shall be henceforward. I entreat your forgiveness for my transport; it arose from an excess of affection, but I can prove to you that I love you more than ever by respecting you as much as you can possibly desire or deserve.” Then, bending before her, and taking her by the hand, he said to her, “Will you honor me by accepting the kiss I press upon your hand?” And the king’s lips were pressed respectfully and lightly upon the young girl’s trembling hand. “Henceforth,” added Louis, rising and bending his glance upon La Vallière, “henceforth you are under my safeguard. Do not speak to anyone of the injury I have done you, forgive others that which they may have attempted. For the future, you shall be so far above all those, that, far from inspiring you with fear, they shall be even beneath your pity.” And he bowed as reverently as though he were leaving a place of worship. Then calling to Saint-Aignan, who approached with great humility, he said, “I hope, comte, that Mademoiselle de La Vallière will kindly confer a little of her friendship upon you, in return for that which I have vowed to her eternally.”
Saint-Aignan bent his knee before La Vallière, saying, “How happy, indeed, would such an honor make me!”
“I will send your companion back to you,” said the king. “Farewell! or, rather, adieu till we meet again; do not forget me in your prayers, I entreat.”
“Oh!” cried La Vallière, “be assured that you and Heaven are in my heart together.”
These words of Louise elated the king, who, full of happiness, hurried Saint-Aignan down the stairs. Madame had not anticipated this denouement; and neither the Naiad nor the Dryad had breathed a word about it.
135
The New General of the Jesuits
While La Vallière and the king were mingling, in their first confession of love, all the bitterness of the past, the happiness of the present, and hopes of the future, Fouquet had retired to the apartments which had been assigned to him in the château, and was conversing with Aramis precisely upon the very subjects which the king at that moment was forgetting.
“Now tell me,” said Fouquet, after having installed his guest in an armchair and seated himself by his side, “tell me, Monsieur d’Herblay, what is our position with regard to the Belle-Isle affair, and whether you have received any news about it.”
“Everything is going on in that direction as we wish,” replied Aramis; “the expenses have been paid, and nothing has transpired of our designs.”
“But what about the soldiers the king wished to send there?”
“I have received news this morning they arrived there fifteen days ago.”
“And how have they been treated?”
“In the best manner possible.”
“What has become of the former garrison?”
“The soldiers were landed at Sarzeau, and then transferred immediately to Quimper.”
“And the new garrison?”
“Belongs to us from this very moment.”
“Are you sure of what you say, my dear Monsieur de Vannes?”
“Quite sure, and, moreover, you will see by and by how matters have turned out.”
“Still you are very well aware, that, of all the garrison towns, Belle-Isle is precisely the very worst.”
“I know it, and have acted accordingly; no space to move about, no gayety, no cheerful society, no gambling permitted: well, it is a great pity,” added Aramis, with one of those smiles so peculiar to him, “to see how much young people at the present day seek amusement, and how much, consequently, they incline to the man who procures and pays for their favorite pastimes.”
“But if they amuse themselves at Belle-Isle?”
“If they amuse themselves through the king’s means, they will attach themselves to the king; but if they get bored to death through the king’s means, and amuse themselves through M. Fouquet, they will attach themselves to M. Fouquet.”
“And you informed my intendant, of course?—so that immediately on their arrival—”
“By no means; they were left alone a whole week, to weary themselves at their ease; but, at the end of the week, they cried out, saying that former officers amused themselves much better. Whereupon they were told that the old officers had been able to make a friend of M. Fouquet, and that M. Fouquet, knowing them to be friends of his, had from that
