“But, my dear Malicorne, Madame cannot endure the slightest noise near her.”
“I know that perfectly well; of course she can’t endure anything; and so, I tell you, when she hears your deep distress, she will turn you out of her rooms without a moment’s delay.”
“I understand.”
“Very fortunate you do.”
“Well, and what will happen next?”
“The next thing that will happen will be, that La Vallière, finding herself alone without you, will groan and utter such loud lamentations, that she will exhibit despair enough for two.”
“In that case she will be put into another room, don’t you see?”
“Precisely so.”
“Yes, but which?”
“Which?”
“Yes, that will puzzle you to say, Mr. Inventor-General.”
“Not at all; whenever and whatever the room may be, it will always be preferable to Madame’s own room.”
“That is true.”
“Very good, so begin your lamentations tonight.”
“I certainly will not fail to do so.”
“And give La Vallière a hint also.”
“Oh! don’t fear her, she cries quite enough already to herself.”
“Very well! all she has to do is cry out loudly.”
And they separated.
173
Which Treats of Carpentry Operations, and Furnishes Details Upon the Mode of Constructing Staircases
The advice which had been given to Montalais was communicated by her to La Vallière, who could not but acknowledge that it was by no means deficient in judgment, and who, after a certain amount of resistance, rising rather from timidity than indifference to the project, resolved to put it into execution. This story of the two girls weeping, and filling Madame’s bedroom with the noisiest lamentations, was Malicorne’s chef-d’oeuvre. As nothing is so probable as improbability, so natural as romance, this kind of Arabian Nights story succeeded perfectly with Madame. The first thing she did was to send Montalais away, and then, three days, or rather three nights afterwards, she had La Vallière removed. She gave the latter one of the small rooms on the top story, situated immediately over the apartments allotted to the gentlemen of Monsieur’s suite. One story only, that is to say, a mere flooring separated the maids of honor from the officers and gentlemen of her husband’s household. A private staircase, which was placed under Madame de Navailles’s surveillance, was the only means of communication. For greater safety, Madame de Navailles, who had heard of His Majesty’s previous attempts, had the windows of the rooms and the openings of the chimneys carefully barred. There was, therefore, every possible security provided for Mademoiselle de La Vallière, whose room now bore more resemblance to a cage than to anything else. When Mademoiselle de La Vallière was in her own room, and she was there very frequently, for Madame scarcely ever had any occasion for her services, since she once knew she was safe under Madame de Navailles’s inspection, Mademoiselle de La Vallière had no better means of amusing herself than looking through the bars of her windows. It happened, therefore, that one morning, as she was looking out as usual, she perceived Malicorne at one of the windows exactly opposite to her own. He held a carpenter’s rule in his hand, was surveying the buildings, and seemed to be adding up some figures on paper. La Vallière recognized Malicorne and nodded to him; Malicorne, in his turn, replied by a formal bow, and disappeared from the window. She was surprised at this marked coolness, so different from his usual unfailing good-humor, but she remembered that he had lost his appointment on her account, and that he could hardly be very amiably disposed towards her, since, in all probability, she would never be in a position to make him any recompense for what he had lost. She knew how to forgive offenses, and with still more readiness could she sympathize with misfortune. La Vallière would have asked Montalais her opinion, if she had been within hearing, but she was absent, it being the hour she commonly devoted to her own correspondence. Suddenly La Vallière observed something thrown from the window where Malicorne had been standing, pass across the open space which separated the iron bars, and roll upon the floor. She advanced with no little curiosity towards this object, and picked it up; it was a wooden reel for silk, only, in this instance, instead of silk, a piece of paper was rolled round it. La Vallière unrolled it and read as follows:
“Mademoiselle—I am exceedingly anxious to learn two things: the first is, to know if the flooring of your apartment is wood or brick; the second, to ascertain at what distance your bed is placed from the window. Forgive my importunity, and will you be good enough to send me an answer by the same way you receive this letter—that is to say, by means of the silk winder; only, instead of throwing into my room, as I have thrown it into yours, which will be too difficult for you to attempt, have the goodness merely to let it fall. Believe me, Mademoiselle, your most humble, most respectful servant,
“Ah! poor fellow,” exclaimed La Vallière, “he must have gone out of his mind”; and she directed towards her correspondent—of whom she caught but a faint glimpse, in consequence of the darkness of the room—a look full of compassionate consideration. Malicorne understood her, and shook his head, as if he meant to say, “No, no, I am not out of my mind; be quite satisfied.”
She smiled, as if still in doubt.
“No, no,” he signified by a gesture, “my head is right,” and pointed to his head, then, after moving his hand like a man who writes very rapidly, he put his hands together as if entreating her to write.
La Vallière, even if he were mad, saw no impropriety in doing what Malicorne requested her; she took a pencil and wrote “Wood,” and
