“Oh! sire, sire! all that is but a wild dream.”
“Why, a wild dream?”
“Because I cannot return to the court. Exiled, how can I see you again? Would it not be far better to bury myself in a cloister for the rest of my life, with the rich consolation that your affection gives me, with the pulses of your heart beating for me, and your latest confession of attachment still ringing in my ears?”
“Exiled, you!” exclaimed Louis XIV, “and who dares to exile, let me ask, when I recall?”
“Oh! sire, something which is greater than and superior to the kings even—the world and public opinion. Reflect for a moment; you cannot love a woman who has been ignominiously driven away—love one whom your mother has stained with suspicions; one whom your sister has threatened with disgrace; such a woman, indeed, would be unworthy of you.”
“Unworthy! one who belongs to me?”
“Yes, sire, precisely on that account; from the very moment she belongs to you, the character of your mistress renders her unworthy.”
“You are right, Louise; every shade of delicacy of feeling is yours. Very well, you shall not be exiled.”
“Ah! from the tone in which you speak, you have not heard Madame, that is very clear.”
“I will appeal from her to my mother.”
“Again, sire, you have not seen your mother.”
“She, too!—my poor Louise! everyone’s hand, then, is against you.”
“Yes, yes, poor Louise, who was already bending beneath the fury of the storm, when you arrived and crushed her beneath the weight of your displeasure.”
“Oh! forgive me.”
“You will not, I know, be able to make either of them yield; believe me, the evil cannot be repaired, for I will not allow you to use violence, or to exercise your authority.”
“Very well, Louise, to prove to you how fondly I love you, I will do one thing, I will see Madame; I will make her revoke her sentence, I will compel her to do so.”
“Compel? Oh! no, no!”
“True; you are right. I will bend her.”
Louise shook her head.
“I will entreat her, if it be necessary,” said Louis. “Will you believe in my affection after that?”
Louise drew herself up. “Oh, never, never shall you humiliate yourself on my account; sooner, a thousand times, would I die.”
Louis reflected; his features assumed a dark expression. “I will love you as much as you have loved; I will suffer as keenly as you have suffered; this shall be my expiation in your eyes. Come, Mademoiselle, put aside these paltry considerations; let us show ourselves as great as our sufferings, as strong as our affection for each other.” And, as he said this, he took her in his arms, and encircled her waist with both his hands, saying, “My own love! my own dearest and best beloved, follow me.”
She made a final effort, in which she concentrated, no longer all of her firmness of will, for that had long since been overcome, but all her physical strength. “No!” she replied, weakly, “no! no! I should die from shame.”
“No! you shall return like a queen. No one knows of your having left—except, indeed, d’Artagnan.”
“He has betrayed me, then?”
“In what way?”
“He promised faithfully—”
“I promised not to say anything to the king,” said d’Artagnan, putting his head through the half-opened door, “and I kept my word; I was speaking to M. de Saint-Aignan, and it was not my fault if the king overheard me; was it, sire?”
“It is quite true,” said the king; “forgive him.”
La Vallière smiled, and held out her small white hand to the musketeer.
“Monsieur d’Artagnan,” said the king, “be good enough to see if you can find a carriage for Mademoiselle de La Vallière.”
“Sire,” said the captain, “the carriage is waiting at the gate.”
“You are a magic mould of forethought,” exclaimed the king.
“You have taken a long time to find it out,” muttered d’Artagnan, notwithstanding he was flattered by the praise bestowed upon him.
La Vallière was overcome: after a little further hesitation, she allowed herself to be led away, half fainting, by her royal lover. But, as she was on the point of leaving the room, she tore herself from the king’s grasp, and returned to the stone crucifix, which she kissed, saying, “Oh, Heaven! it was thou who drewest me hither! thou, who has rejected me; but thy grace is infinite. Whenever I shall again return, forget that I have ever separated myself from thee, for, when I return it will be—never to leave thee again.”
The king could not restrain his emotion, and d’Artagnan, even, was overcome. Louis led the young girl away, lifted her into the carriage, and directed d’Artagnan to seat himself beside her, while he, mounting his horse, spurred violently towards the Palais Royal, where, immediately on his arrival, he sent to request an audience of Madame.
170
Madame
From the manner in which the king had dismissed the ambassadors, even the least clear-sighted persons belonging to the court imagined war would ensue. The ambassadors themselves, but slightly acquainted with the king’s domestic disturbances, had interpreted as directed against themselves the celebrated sentence: “If I be not master of myself, I, at least, will be so of those who insult me.” Happily for the destinies of France and Holland, Colbert had followed them out of the king’s presence for the purpose of explaining matters to them; but the two queens and Madame, who were perfectly aware of every particular that had taken place in their several households, having heard the king’s remark, so full of dark meaning, retired to their own apartments in no little fear and chagrin. Madame, especially, felt that the royal anger might fall upon her, and, as she was
