THE PROMENADE BY TORCHLIGHT.
Saint-Aignan, delighted with what he had just heard, and rejoiced at
what the future foreshadowed for him, bent his steps toward De Guiche's
two rooms. He who, a quarter of an hour previously, would not have
yielded up his own rooms for a million of francs, was now ready to
expend a million, if it were necessary, upon the acquisition of the two
happy rooms he coveted so eagerly. But he did not meet with so many
obstacles. M. de Guiche did not yet know whereabouts he was to lodge,
and, besides, was still far too suffering to trouble himself about his
lodgings; and so Saint-Aignan obtained De Guiche's two rooms without
difficulty. As for M. Dangeau, he was so immeasurably delighted that he
did not even give himself the trouble to think whether Saint-Aignan had
any particular reason for removing. Within an hour after Saint-Aignan's
new resolution, he was in possession of the two rooms; and ten minutes
later Malicorne entered, followed by the upholsterers. During this time,
the king asked for Saint-Aignan: the valet ran to his late apartments
and found M. Dangeau there; Dangeau sent him on to De Guiche's, and
Saint-Aignan was found there; but a little delay had of course taken
place, and the king had already exhibited once or twice evident signs of
impatience, when Saint-Aignan entered his royal master's presence, quite
out of breath. "You, too, abandon me, then," said Louis XIV., in a
similar tone of lamentation to that with which Cæsar, eighteen hundred
years previously, had used the _tu quoque_.
"Sire, I am very far from abandoning you; for, on the contrary, I am
busily occupied in changing my lodgings."
"What do you mean? I thought you had finished moving three days ago."
"Yes, sire; but I don't find myself comfortable where I am, and so I am
going to change to the opposite side of the building."
"Was I not right when I said you were abandoning me!" exclaimed the
king. "Oh! this exceeds all endurance! But so it is. There was only one
woman for whom my heart cared at all, and all my family is leagued
together to tear her from me; and my friend, to whom I confided my
distress, and who helped me to bear up under it, has become wearied of
my complaints, and is going to leave me without even asking my
permission."
Saint-Aignan began to laugh. The king at once guessed there must be some
mystery in this want of respect. "What is it?" cried the king, full of
hope.
"This, sire, that the friend whom the king calumniates is going to try
if he cannot restore to his sovereign the happiness he has lost."
"Are you going to let me see La Valliere?" said Louis XIV.
"I cannot say so, positively, but I hope so."
"How--how?--tell me that, Saint-Aignan. I wish to know what your project
is, and to help you with all my power."
"Sire," replied Saint-Aignan, "I cannot, even myself, tell very well how
I must set about attaining success; but I have every reason to believe
that from to-morrow--"
"To-morrow, do you say! What happiness! But why are you changing your
rooms?"
"In order to serve your majesty to greater advantage."
"How can your moving serve me?"
"Do you happen to know where the two rooms destined for De Guiche are
situated?"
"Yes."
"Well, your majesty now knows where I am going."
"Very likely; but that does not help me."
"What! is it possible you do not understand, sire, that above De
Guiche's lodgings are two rooms, one of which is Mademoiselle de
Montalais's, and the other--"
"La Valliere's, is it not so, Saint-Aignan? Oh! yes, yes. It is a
brilliant idea. Saint-Aignan, at true friend's idea, a poet's idea; in
bringing me nearer her from whom the whole world seems to unite to
separate me; you are far more than Pylades was for Orestes, or Patroclus
for Achilles."
"Sire," said Aignan, with a smile, "I question whether, if your majesty
were to know my projects in their full extent, you would continue to
confer such pompous qualifications upon me. Ah! sire, I know how very
different are the epithets which certain Puritans of the court will not
fail to apply to me when they learn what I intend to do for your
majesty."
"Saint-Aignan, I am dying from impatience; I am in a perfect fever; I
shall never be able to wait until to-morrow--To-morrow! why to-morrow is
an eternity!"
"And yet, sire, I shall require you, if you please, to go out presently
and divert your impatience by a good walk."
"With you--agreed; we will talk about your projects, we will talk of
her."
"Nay, sire; I remain here."
"Whom shall I go out with, then?"
"With the queens and all the ladies of the court."
"Nothing shall induce me to do that Saint-Aignan."
"And yet, sire, you must do it."
"No, no--a thousand times, no! I will never again expose myself to the
horrible torture of being close to her, of seeing her, of touching her
dress as I pass by her, and yet not to be able to say a word to her. No,
I renounce a torture which you suppose to be happiness, but which
consumes and eats away my very life; to see her in the presence of
strangers and not to tell her that I love her, when my whole being
reveals my affection and betrays me to every one; no! I have sworn never
to do it again, and I will keep my oath."
"Yet, sire, pray listen to me for a moment."
"I will listen to nothing, Saint-Aignan."
"In that case, I will continue; it is most urgent, sire--pray understand
me, it is of the greatest importance--that Madame and her maids of honor
should be absent for two hours from the palace."
"I cannot understand your meaning at all, Saint-Aignan."
"It is hard for me to give my sovereign directions what to do; but in
this circumstance I do give you directions, sire; and either a hunting
or promenade party must be got up."
"But if I were to do what you wish, it would be a caprice, a mere whim.
In displaying such an impatient humor I show my whole court that I have
no control over my own feelings. Do not people already say that I am
dreaming of the conquest of the world, but that I ought previously to
begin by achieving a conquest over myself."
"Those who say so, sire, are insolent and factious persons; but whoever
they may be, if your majesty prefers to listen to them, I have nothing
further to say. In such a case, that which we have fixed to take place
to-morrow must be postponed indefinitely."
"Nay, Saint-Aignan, I will go out this evening--I will go by torchlight
to sleep at St. Germain; I will breakfast there to-morrow, and will
return to Paris by three o'clock. Will that do?"
"Admirably."
"In that case I will set out this evening at eight o'clock."
"Your majesty has fixed upon the exact minute."
"And you positively will tell me nothing more?"
"It is because I have nothing more to tell you. Industry goes for
something in this world, sire; but yet chance plays so important a part
in it that I have been accustomed to leave her the narrowest part,
confident that she will manage so as to always take the widest."
"Well, I abandon myself entirely to you."
"And you are quite right."
Comforted in this manner, the king went immediately to Madame, to whom
he announced the intended expedition. Madame fancied at the first moment
that she saw in this unexpectedly arranged party a plot of the king's to
converse with La Valliere, either on the road under cover of the
darkness, or in some other way, but she took especial care to show
nothing of her fancies to her brother-in-law, and accepted the
invitation with a smile upon her lips. She gave directions aloud that
her maids of honor should accompany her, secretly intending in the
evening to take the most effectual steps to interfere with his majesty's
attachment. Then, when she was alone, and at the very moment the poor
lover, who had issued his orders for the departure, was reveling in the
idea that Mademoiselle de la Valliere would form one of the party--at
the very moment, perhaps, when he was luxuriating in the sad happiness
which persecuted lovers enjoy of realizing by the sense of sight alone
all the delights of an interdicted possession--at that very moment, we
say, Madame, who was surrounded by her maids of honor, said: "Two ladies
will be enough for me this evening, Mademoiselle de Tonnay-Charente and
Mademoiselle de Montalais."
La Valliere had anticipated the omission of herself and was prepared for
it; but persecution had rendered her courageous, and she did not give
Madame the pleasure of seeing on her face the impression of the shock
her heart had received. On the contrary, smiling with that ineffable
gentleness which gave an angelic expression to her features--"In that
case, madame, I shall be at liberty this evening, I suppose?" she said.
"Of course."
"I shall be able to employ it, then, in progressing with that piece of
tapestry which your highness has been good enough to notice, and which I
have already had the honor of offering to you."
And having made a respectful obeisance, she withdrew to her own
apartment; Mesdemoiselles de Tonnay-Charente and de Montalais did the
same. The rumor of the intended promenade was soon spread all over the
palace; ten minutes afterward Malicorne learned Madame's resolution, and
slipped under Montalais' door a note, in the following terms:
"La Valliere must positively pass the night with Madame."
Montalais, in pursuance of the compact she had entered into, began by
burning the paper, and then sat down to reflect. Montalais was a girl
full of expedients, and so had very soon arranged her plan. Toward five
o'clock, which was the hour for her to repair to Madame's apartment, she
was running across the courtyard, and had reached within a dozen paces a
group of officers, when she uttered a cry, fell gracefully on one knee,
rose again, and walked on limpingly. The gentlemen ran forward to her
assistance; Montalais had sprained her foot. Faithful to the discharge
of her duty, she insisted, however, notwithstanding her accident, upon
going to Madame's apartment.
"What is the matter, and why do you limp so?" she inquired: "I mistook
you for La Valliere."
Montalais related how it had happened, that in hurrying on, in order to
arrive as quickly as possible, she had sprained her foot. Madame seemed
to pity her, and wished to have a surgeon sent for immediately, but she,
assuring her that there was nothing really serious in the accident,
said, "My only regret, madame, is that it will preclude my attendance on
you, and I should have begged Mademoiselle de la Valliere to take my
place with your royal highness, but--" Seeing that Madame frowned, she
added, "I have not done so."
"Why did you not do so?" inquired Madame.
"Because poor La Valliere seemed so happy to have her liberty for a
whole evening and night too, that I did not feel courageous enough to
ask her to take my place."
"What! is she so delighted as that?" inquired Madame, struck by these
words.
"She is wild with delight; she, who is always so melancholy, was singing
like a bird. Besides, your highness knows how much she detests going
out, and also that her character has a spice of wildness in it."
"Oh, oh!" thought Madame, "this extreme delight hardly seems natural to
me."
"She has already made all her preparations for dining in her own room
tete-à-tete with one of her favorite books. And then, as your highness
has six other young ladies who would be delighted to accompany you, I
did not make my proposal to La Valliere." Madame did not say a word in
reply.
"Have I acted properly?" continued Montalais, with a slight fluttering
of the heart, seeing the little success that attended the _ruse de
guerre_ which she had relied upon with so much confidence that she had
not thought it even necessary to try and find another. "Does Madame
approve of what I have done?" she continued.
Madame was reflecting that the king could very easily leave
Saint-Germain during the night, and that, as it was only four leagues
and a half from Paris to Saint-Germain, he might very easily be in Paris
in an hour's time. "Tell me," she said, "whether La Valliere, when she
heard of your accident, offered at least to bear you company?"
"Oh! she does not yet know of my accident; but even did she know of it,
I should not most certainty ask her to do anything which might interfere
with her own plans. I think she wishes this evening to realize quietly
by herself that amusement of the late king, when he said to M. de
Cinq-Mars, 'Let us amuse ourselves by doing-nothing and making ourselves
miserable.'"
Madame felt convinced that some mysterious love adventure was hidden
beneath this strong desire for solitude. This mystery might possibly be
Louis's return during the night; it could not be doubted any longer--La
Valliere had been informed of his intended return, and that was the
reason of her delight at having to remain behind at the Palais Royal. It
was a plan settled and arranged beforehand.
"I will not be their dupe, though," said Madame; and she took a decisive
step. "Mademoiselle de Montalais," she said, "Will you have the goodness
to inform your friend, Mademoiselle de la Valliere, that I am
exceedingly sorry to disarrange her projects of solitude, but that
instead of becoming _ennuyée_ by remaining behind alone as she wished,
she will be good enough to accompany us to Saint-Germain and get
_ennuyée_ there."
"Ah! poor La Valliere," said Montalais, compassionately, but with her
heart throbbing with delight; "oh, madame, could there not be some
means--"
"Enough," said Madame, "I desire it! I prefer Mademoiselle la Baume le
Blanc's society to that of any one else. Go and send her to me, and take
care of your foot."
Montalais did not wait for the order to be repeated; she returned to her
room, wrote an answer to Malicorne, and slipped it under the carpet. The
answer simply said: "She is going." A Spartan could not have written
more laconically.
"By this means," thought Madame, "I will look narrowly after all on the
road; she shall sleep near me during the night, and his majesty must be
very clever if he can exchange a single word with Mademoiselle de la
Valliere."
La Valliere received the order to set off with the same indifferent
gentleness with which she had received the order to remain. But inwardly
her delight was extreme, and she looked upon this change in the
princess's resolution as a consolation which Providence had sent her.
With less penetration than Madame possessed, she attributed all to
chance. While everyone, with the exception of those in disgrace, of
those who were ill, and those who were suffering from sprains, were
proceeding toward Saint-Germain, Malicorne smuggled his workman into the
palace in one of M. de Saint-Aignan's carriages, and led him into the
room corresponding to La Valliere's room. The man set to work, tempted
by the splendid reward which had been promised him. As the very best
tools and implements had been selected from the reserve stock belonging
to the engineers attached to the king's household--and among others a
saw with teeth so sharp and well-tempered that it could, under water
even, cut through oaken joists as hard as iron--the work in question
advanced very rapidly, and a square portion of the ceiling, taken from
between two of the joists, fell into the arms of Saint-Aignan,
Malicorne, the workman, and a confidential valet, the latter being one
brought into the world to see and hear everything, but to repeat
nothing. In accordance with a new plan indicated by Malicorne, the
opening was effected in an angle of the room, and for this reason. As
there was no dressing-closet adjoining La Valliere's room, she had
solicited, and had that very morning obtained, a large screen intended
to serve as a partition. The screen which had been conceded was
perfectly sufficient to conceal the opening, which would, besides, be
hidden by all the artifices which cabinetmakers have at their command.
The opening having been made, the workman glided between the joists, and
found himself in La Valliere's room. When there, he cut a square opening
in the flooring, and out of the boards he manufactured a trap so
accurately fitting into the opening, that the most practiced eye could
hardly detect the necessary interstices made by joining the flooring.
Malicorne had provided for everything: a ring and a couple of hinges,
which had been bought for the purpose, were affixed to the trap-door;
and a small circular staircase had been bought ready-made by the
industrious Malicorne, who had paid two thousand francs for it. It was
higher than was required, but the carpenter reduced the number of steps,
and it was found to suit exactly. This staircase, destined to receive so
illustrious a weight, was merely fastened to the wall by a couple of
iron clamps, and its base was fixed into the floor of the comte's room
by two iron pegs, screwed down tightly, so that the king, and all his
cabinet councilors, too, might pass up and down the staircase without
any fear. Every blow of the hammer fell upon a thick pad or cushion, and
the saw was not used until the handle had been wrapped in wool, and the
blade steeped in oil. The noisiest part of the work, moreover, had taken
place during the night and early in the morning, that is to say, when La
Valliere and Madame were both absent.
When, about two o'clock in the afternoon, the court returned to the
Palais Royal, La Valliere went up into her room. Everything was in its
place, and not the smallest particle of sawdust, not the smallest chip,
was left to bear witness to the violation of her domicile. Saint-Aignan,
however, who had wished to do his utmost in getting the work done, had
torn his fingers and his shirt too, and had expended no ordinary
quantity of perspiration in the king's service. The palms of his hands,
especially, were covered with blisters, occasioned by his having held
the ladder for Malicorne. He had moreover brought, one by one, the five
pieces of the staircase, each consisting of two steps. In fact, we can
safely assert, that if the king had seen him so ardently at work, his
majesty would have sworn an eternal gratitude toward his faithful
attendant. As Malicorne had anticipated, the workman had completely
finished the job in twenty-four hours; he received twenty-four louis,
and left overwhelmed with delight, for he had gained in one day as much
as six months' hard work would have procured him. No one had the
slightest suspicion of what had taken place in the room under
Mademoiselle de la Valliere's apartment. But in the evening of the
second day, at the very moment La Valliere had just left Madame's
circle and had returned to her own room, she heard a slight creaking
sound at the end of it. Astonished, she looked to see whence it
proceeded, and the noise began again. "Who is there?" she said, in a
tone of alarm.
"I," replied the well-known voice of the king.
"You! you!" cried the young girl, who for a moment fancied herself under
the influence of a dream. "But where? You, sire?"
"Here," replied the king, opening one of the folds of the screen, and
appearing like a ghost at the end of the room.
La Valliere uttered a loud cry, and fell trembling into an armchair, as
the king advanced respectfully toward her.