THE SHOWER OF RAIN.
At this moment, and in the same direction, too, that the king and La
Valliere were proceeding, except that they were walking in the wood
itself instead of following the path, two men were walking together,
utterly indifferent to the appearance of the heavens. Their heads were
bent down in the manner of people occupied with matters of great
moment. They had not observed either De Guiche or Madame, or the king
or La Valliere. Suddenly something passed through the air like a stream
of fire, followed by a loud but distant rumbling noise.
"Ah!" said one of them, raising his head, "here is the storm. Let us
reach our carriages, my dear D'Herblay."
Aramis looked inquiringly at the heavens. "There is no occasion to hurry
yet," he said; and then, resuming the conversation where it had
doubtlessly been interrupted, he said, "You were observing that the
letter we wrote last evening must by this time have reached its
destination?"
"I was saying that she certainly has it."
"Whom did you send it by?"
"By my own servant, as I have already told you."
"Did he bring back an answer?"
"I have not seen him since; the young girl was probably in attendance on
Madame, or was in her own room dressing, and he may have had to wait.
Our time for leaving arrived, and we set off, of course: I cannot,
therefore, know what is going on yonder."
"Did you see the king before leaving?"
"Yes."
"How did he seem?"
"Nothing could be better, or worse; according as he be sincere or
hypocritical."
"And the _fete_?"
"Will take place in a month."
"He invited himself, you say?"
"With a pertinacity in which I detected Colbert's influence. But has not
last night removed your illusions?"
"What illusions?"
"With respect to the assistance you may be able to give me in this
circumstance."
"No; I have passed the night writing, and all my orders are given."
"Do not conceal it from yourself, D'Herblay, but the _fete_ will cost
some millions."
"I will give six, do you on your side get two or three."
"You are a wonderful man, my dear D'Herblay."
Aramis smiled.
"But," inquired Fouquet, with some remaining uneasiness, "how is it
that, while now you are squandering millions in this manner, a few days
ago you did not pay the fifty thousand francs to Baisemeaux out of your
own pocket?"
"Because a few days ago I was as poor as Job."
"And to-day?"
"To-day I am wealthier than the king himself."
"Very well," said Fouquet; "I understand men pretty well; I know you
are incapable of forfeiting your word; I do not wish to wrest your
secret from you, and so let us talk no more about it."
At this moment a dull, heavy rumbling was heard, which suddenly burst
forth in a violent clap of thunder.
"Oh, oh!" said Fouquet, "I was quite right in what I said."
"Come," said Aramis, "let us rejoin the carriages."
"We shall not have time," said Fouquet, "for here comes the rain."
In fact, as he spoke, and as if the heavens were opened, a shower of
large drops of rain was suddenly heard falling on the trees about them.
"We shall have time," said Aramis, "to reach the carriages before the
foliage becomes saturated."
"It will be better," said Fouquet, "to take shelter somewhere--in a
grotto, for instance."
"Yes, but where are we to find a grotto?" inquired Aramis.
"I know one," said Fouquet, smiling, "not ten paces from here." Then
looking round about him, he added: "Yes, we are quite right."
"You are very fortunate to have so good a memory said Aramis," smiling in
his turn; "but are you not afraid that your coachman, finding we do not
return, will suppose we have taken another road back, and that he will
not follow the carriages belonging to the court?"
"Oh, there is no fear of that," said Fouquet; "whenever I place my
coachman and my carriage in any particular spot, nothing but an express
order from the king could stir them; and more than that, too, it seems
that we are not the only ones who have come so far, for I hear footsteps
and the sound of voices."
As he spoke, Fouquet, turning round, opened with his cane a mass of
foliage which hid the path from his view. Aramis' glance as well as his
own plunged at the same moment through the opening he had made.
"A woman," said Aramis.
"And a man," said Fouquet.
"It is La Valliere and the king," they both exclaimed together.
"Oh, oh!" said Aramis, "is his majesty aware of your cavern as well? I
should not be astonished if he were, for he seems to be on very good
terms with the nymphs of Fontainebleau."
"It matters little," said Fouquet; "let us get there; if he is not aware
of it we shall see what he will do; if he should know it, as it has two
entrances, while he enters by one, we can leave by the other."
"Is it far?" asked Aramis, "for the rain is beginning to penetrate."
"We are there now," said Fouquet, as he put aside a few branches, and an
excavation of the rock could be observed, which had been entirely
concealed by heaths, ivy, and a thick covert of small shrubs.
Fouquet led the way, followed by Aramis; but as the latter entered the
grotto, he turned round, saying: "Yes, they are now entering the wood;
and, see, they are bending their steps this way."
"Very well; let us make room for them," said Fouquet, smiling and
pulling Aramis by his cloak; "but I do not think the king knows of my
grotto."
"Yes," said Aramis, "they are looking about them, but it is only for a
thicker tree."
Aramis was not mistaken, the king's looks were directed upward, and not
around him. He held La Valliere's arm within his own, and held her hand
in his. La Valliere's feet began to slip on the damp grass. Louis again
looked round him with greater attention than before, and perceiving an
enormous oak with wide-spreading branches, he hurriedly drew La
Valliere beneath its protecting shelter. The poor girl looked round her
on all sides, and seemed half afraid, half desirous, of being followed.
The king made her lean her back against the trunk of the tree, whose
vast circumference, protected by the thickness of the foliage, was as
dry as if at that moment the rain had not been falling in torrents. He
himself remained standing before her with his head uncovered. After a
few minutes, however, some drops of rain penetrated through the branches
of the tree and fell on the king's forehead, who did not pay any
attention to it.
"Oh, sire!" murmured La Valliere, pushing the king's hat toward him. But
the king simply bowed, and determinedly refused to cover his head.
"Now or never is the time to offer your place," said Fouquet in Aramis'
ear.
"Now or never is the time to listen, and not lose a syllable of what
they may have to say to each other," replied Aramis in Fouquet's ear.
In fact, they both remained perfectly silent, and the king's voice
reached them where they were.
"Believe me," said the king, "I perceive, or rather I can imagine your
uneasiness; believe how sincerely I regret to have isolated you from the
rest of the company, and to have brought you, also, to a spot where you
will be inconvenienced by the rain. You are wet already, and perhaps are
cold, too?"
"No, sire."
"And yet you tremble?"
"I am afraid, sire, that my absence may be misinterpreted; at a moment,
too, when all the others are reunited."
"I would not hesitate to propose returning to the carriages,
Mademoiselle de la Valliere, but pray look and listen, and tell me if it
be possible to attempt to make the slightest progress at the present?"
In fact the thunder was still rolling, and the rain continued to fall in
torrents.
"Besides," continued the king, "no possible interpretation can be made
which would be to your discredit. Are you not with the king of France;
in other words, with the first gentleman of the kingdom?"
"Certainly, sire," replied La Valliere, "and it is a very distinguished
honor for me; it is not, therefore, for myself that I fear the
interpretations that may be made."
"For whom, then?"
"For yourself, sire."
"For me?" said the king, smiling; "I do not understand you."
"Has your majesty already forgotten what took place yesterday evening in
her highness's apartments?"
"Oh! forget that, I beg, or allow me to remember it for no other purpose
than to thank you once more for your letter, and--"
"Sire," interrupted La Valliere, "the rain is falling, and your
majesty's head is uncovered."
"I entreat you not to think of anything but yourself."
"Oh! I," said La Valliere, smiling, "I am a country girl, accustomed to
roaming through the meadows of the Loire and the gardens of Blois,
whatever the weather may be. And, as for my clothes," she added, looking
at her simple muslin dress, "your majesty sees they do not run much
risk."
"Indeed, I have already noticed, more than once, that you owed nearly
everything to yourself and nothing to your toilet. Your freedom from
coquetry is one of your greatest charms in my eyes."
"Sire, do not make me out better than I am, and say merely, 'You cannot
be a coquette.'"
"Why so?"
"Because," said La Valliere, smiling, "I am not rich."
"You admit, then," said the king, quickly, "that you have a love for
beautiful things?"
"Sire, I only regard those things as beautiful which are within my
reach. Everything which is too highly placed for me--"
"You are indifferent to?"
"Is foreign to me, as being prohibited."
"And I," said the king, "do not find that you are at my court on the
footing you should be. The services of your family have not been
sufficiently brought under my notice. The advancement of your family has
been cruelly neglected by my uncle."
"On the contrary, sire. His royal highness, the Duke of Orleans, had
always been exceedingly kind toward M. de Saint-Remy, my father-in-law.
The services rendered were humble, and, properly speaking, our services
have been adequately recognized. It is not every one who is happy enough
to find opportunities of serving his sovereign with distinction. I have
no doubt at all, that, if ever opportunities had been met with, my
family's actions would; but that happiness has never been ours."
"In that case, Mademoiselle de la Valliere, it belongs to kings to
repair the want of opportunity, and most delightedly do I undertake to
repair, in your instance, and with the least possible delay, the wrongs
of fortune toward you."
"Nay, sire," cried La Valliere, eagerly; "leave things, I beg, as they
now are."
"Is it possible! you refuse what I ought, and what I wish to do for
you?"
"All I desired has been granted me, when the honor was conferred upon me
of forming one of Madame's household."
"But if you refuse for yourself, at least accept for your family."
"Your generous intention, sire, bewilders and makes me apprehensive,
for, in doing for my family what your kindness urges you to do, your
majesty will raise up enemies for us, and enemies for yourself too.
Leave me in my mediocrity, sire; of all the feelings and sentiments I
experience, leave me to enjoy that pleasing delicacy of
disinterestedness."
"The sentiments you express," said the king, "are indeed admirable."
"Quite true," murmured Aramis in Fouquet's ear, "and he cannot be
accustomed to them."
"But," replied Fouquet, "suppose she were to make a similar reply to my
letter."
"True!" said Aramis, "let us not anticipate, but wait the conclusion."
"And then, dear Monsieur d'Herblay," added the surintendant, hardly able
to appreciate the sentiments which La Valliere had just expressed, "it
is very often a sound calculation to seem disinterested with monarchs."
"Exactly what I was thinking this very minute," said Aramis. "Let us
listen."
The king approached nearer to La Valliere, and as the rain dripped more
and more through the foliage of the oak, he held his hat over the head
of the young girl, who raised her beautiful blue eyes toward the royal
hat which sheltered her, and shook her head, sighing deeply as she did
so.
"What melancholy thought," said the king, "can possibly reach your heart
when I place mine as a rampart before it?"
"I will tell you, sire. I had already once before broached this
question, which is so difficult for a young girl of my age to discuss,
but your majesty imposed silence on me. Your majesty belongs not to
yourself alone, you are married; and every sentiment which would
separate your majesty from the queen, in leading your majesty to take
notice of me, will be a source of the profoundest sorrow for the queen."
The king endeavored to interrupt the young girl, but she continued with
a suppliant gesture. "The Queen Maria, with an attachment which can be
so well understood, follows with her eyes every step of your majesty
which separates you from her. Happy enough in having had her fate united
to your own, she weepingly implores Heaven to preserve you to her, and
is jealous of the faintest throb of your heart bestowed elsewhere." The
king again seemed anxious to speak, but again did La Valliere venture to
prevent him.--"Would it not, therefore, be a most blameable action," she
continued, "if your majesty, a witness of this anxious and disinterested
affection, gave the queen any cause for her jealousy? Forgive me, sire,
for the expression I have used. I well know it is impossible, or rather
that it would be impossible, that the greatest queen of the whole world
could be jealous of a poor girl like myself. But, though a queen, she is
still a woman, and her heart, like that of any of her sex, cannot close
itself against the suspicions which such as are evilly disposed
insinuate. For Heaven's sake, sire, think no more of me, I am unworthy
of your regard."
"Do you know that in speaking as you have done you change my esteem for
you into admiration?"
"Sire, you assume my words to be contrary to the truth; you suppose me
to be better than I really am, and attach a greater merit to me than God
ever intended should be the case. Spare me, sire; for, did I not know
that your majesty was the most generous man in your kingdom, I should
believe you were jesting."
"You do not, I know, fear such a thing; I am quite sure of that,"
exclaimed Louis.
"I shall be obliged to believe it, if your majesty continues to hold
such language toward me."
"I am most unhappy, then," said the king, in a tone of regret which was
not assumed: "I am the unhappiest prince in the whole Christian world,
since I am powerless to induce belief in my words in one whom I love the
best in the wide world, and who almost breaks my heart by refusing to
credit my regard for her."
"Oh, sire!" said La Valliere, gently putting the king aside, who had
approached nearer to her, "I think the storm has passed away now, and
the rain has ceased." At the very moment, however, as the poor girl,
fleeing, as it were, from her own heart, which doubtlessly throbbed too
much in unison with the king's, uttered these words, the storm undertook
to contradict her. A bluish flash of lightning illumined the forest with
a wild, weird-like glare, and a peal of thunder, like a discharge of
artillery, burst over their very heads, as if the height of the oak
which sheltered them had attracted the storm. The young girl could not
repress a cry of terror. The king with one hand drew her toward his
heart, and stretched the other above her head, as though to shield her
from the lightning. A moment's silence ensued, as the group, delightful
as everything young and loving is delightful, remained motionless, while
Fouquet and Aramis contemplated it in attitudes as motionless as La
Valliere and the king. "Oh, sire, sire!" murmured La Valliere, "do you
hear?" and her head fell upon his shoulder.
"Yes," said the king. "You see the storm has not passed away."
"It is a warning, sire." The king smiled. "Sire, it is the voice of
Heaven in anger."
"Be it so," said the king. "I agree to accept that peal of thunder as a
warning, and even as a menace, if, in five minutes from the present
moment, it is renewed with equal violence; but if not, permit me to
think that the storm is a storm simply, and nothing more." And the king,
at the same moment, raised his head, as if to interrogate the heavens.
But, as if the remark had been heard and accepted, during the five
minutes which elapsed after the burst of thunder which had alarmed them
no renewed repeal was heard; and when the thunder was again heard, it
was passing away in so audible a manner, as if, during those same five
minutes, the storm, put to flight, had traversed the heavens with the
speed of the wings of the wind. "Well, Louise," said the king, in a low
tone of voice, "will you still threaten me with the anger of Heaven?
and, since you wished to regard the storm as a presentiment, will you
still believe that presentiment to be one of misfortune?"
The young girl looked up, and saw that while they had been talking the
rain had penetrated the foliage above them, and was trickling down the
king's face. "Oh, sire, sire!" she exclaimed, in accents of eager
apprehension, which greatly agitated the king. "It is for me," she
murmured, "that the king remains thus uncovered, and exposed to the
rain. What am I, then?"
"You are, you perceive," said the king, "the divinity who dissipates the
storm, and brings back fine weather." In fact, a ray of sunlight
streamed through the forest, and caused the rain-drops which rested upon
the leaves, or fell vertically among the openings in the branches of the
trees, to glisten like diamonds.
"Sire," said La Valliere, almost overcome, but making a powerful effort
over herself, "think of the anxieties your majesty will have to submit
to on my account. At this very moment they are seeking you in every
direction. The queen must be full of uneasiness; and Madame--oh,
Madame!" the young girl exclaimed, with an expression which almost
resembled terror.
This name had a certain effect upon the king. He started, and disengaged
himself from La Valliere, whom he had, till that moment, held pressed
against his heart. He then advanced toward the path, in order to look
round, and returned, somewhat thoughtfully, to La Valliere. "Madame, did
you say?" he remarked.
"Yes, Madame; she, too, is jealous," said La Valliere, with a marked
tone of voice; and her eyes, so timorous in their expression, and so
modestly fugitive in their glance, for a moment ventured to look
inquiringly in the king's eyes.
"Still," returned Louis, making an effort over himself, "it seems to me
that Madame has no reason, no right to be jealous of me."
"Alas!" murmured La Valliere.
"Are you, too," said the king, almost in a tone of reproach, "are you
among those who think the sister has a right to be jealous of the
brother?"
"It is not for me, sire, to penetrate your majesty's secrets."
"You do believe it, then?" exclaimed the king.
"I do believe Madame is jealous, sire," La Valliere replied, firmly.
"Is it possible," said the king, with some anxiety, "that you have
perceived it, then, from her conduct toward you? Have her manners in any
way been such toward you that you can attribute them to the jealousy you
speak of?"
"Not at all, sire; I am of so little importance."
"Oh! if it were really the case--" exclaimed Louis, violently.
"Sire," interrupted the young girl, "it has ceased raining; some one is
coming, I think." And, forgetful of all etiquette, she had seized the
king by the arm.
"Well," replied the king, "let them come. Who is there who would venture
to think I had done wrong in remaining alone with Mademoiselle de la
Valliere?"
"For pity's sake, sire! they will think it strange to see you wet
through in this manner, and that you should have run such risk for me."
"I have simply done my duty as a gentleman," said Louis; "and woe to him
who may fail in his, in criticising his sovereign's conduct." In fact,
at this moment, a few eager and curious faces were seen in the walk, as
if engaged in a search, and who, observing the king and La Valliere,
seemed to have found what they were seeking. They were some of the
courtiers who had been sent by the queen and Madame, and who immediately
uncovered themselves, in token of having perceived his majesty. But
Louis, notwithstanding La Valliere's confusion, did not quit his
respectful and tender attitude. Then, when all the courtiers were
assembled in the walk--when every one had been able to perceive the mark
of deference with which he had treated the young girl, by remaining
standing and bareheaded during the storm--he offered her his arm, led
her toward the group who were waiting, recognized by an inclination of
the head the respectful salutations which were paid him on all sides;
and, still holding his hat in his hand, he conducted her to her
carriage. And, as the rain still continued to fall--a last adieu of the
disappearing storm--the other ladies, whom respect had prevented getting
into their carriages before the king, remained, and altogether
unprotected by hood and cloak, exposed to the rain from which the king,
with his hat over her, was protecting, as much as he was able, the
humblest among them. The queen and Madame must, like the others, have
witnessed this exaggerated courtesy of the king. Madame was so
disconcerted at it that she touched the queen with her elbow, saying at
the same time, "Look there, look there!"
The queen closed her eyes, as if she had been suddenly seized with a
fainting attack. She lifted her hand to her face and entered her
carriage, Madame following her. The king again mounted his horse, and
without showing a preference for any particular carriage-door, he
returned to Fontainebleau, the reins hanging over his horse's neck,
absorbed in thought. As soon as the crowd had disappeared, and the sound
of the horses and carriages grew fainter in the distance, and when they
were certain, in fact, that no one could see them, Aramis and Fouquet
came out of their grotto, and both of them in silence passed slowly on
toward the walk. Aramis looked most narrowly not only at the whole
extent of the open space stretching out before and behind him, but even
into the very depths of the wood.
"Monsieur Fouquet," he said, when he had quite satisfied himself that
they were alone, "we must get back, at any cost, the letter you wrote to
La Valliere."
"That will be easy enough," said Fouquet, "if my servant has not given
it to her."
"In any case, it must be done; do you understand?"
"Yes; the king is in love with this girl, you mean?"
"Exceedingly so; and what is worse is that, on her side, the girl is
passionately attached to the king."
"As much as to say that we must change our tactics, I suppose?"
"Not a doubt of it; you have no time to lose. You must see La Valliere,
and, without thinking any more of becoming her lover, which is out of
the question, must declare yourself her dearest friend and her most
humble servant."
"I will do so," replied Fouquet, "and without the slightest feeling of
disinclination, for she seems a good-hearted girl."
"Or a clever one," said Aramis; "but in that case the greater reason."
Then he added, after a moment's pause, "If I am not mistaken, that girl
will become the strongest passion of the king. Let us return to our
carriage, and, as fast as possible, to the chateau."