SAINT-AIGNAN FOLLOWS MALICORNE'S ADVICE.
The king most assiduously followed the progress which was made in La
Valliere's portrait; and did so with a care and attention arising as
much from a desire that it should resemble her as from the wish that the
painter should prolong the period of its completion as much as possible.
It was amusing to observe him following the artist's brush, awaiting the
completion of a particular plan, or the result of a combination of
colors, and suggesting various modifications to the painter, which the
latter consented to adopt with the most respectful docility of
disposition. And again, when the artist, following Malicorne's advice,
was a little late in arriving, and when Saint-Aignan had been obliged to
be absent for some time, it was interesting to observe, though no one
witnessed them, those moments of silence full of deep expression, which
united in one sigh two souls most disposed to understand each other, and
who by no means objected to the quiet and meditation they enjoyed
together.
The minutes fled rapidly by, as if on wings: and as the king drew closer
to Louise and bent his burning gaze upon her, a noise was suddenly heard
in the anteroom. It was the artist, who had just arrived: Saint-Aignan,
too, had returned, full of apologies: and the king began to talk, and La
Valliere to answer him very hurriedly, their eyes revealing to
Saint-Aignan that they had enjoyed a century of happiness during his
absence. In a word, Malicorne, philosopher that he was, though he knew
it not, had learned how to inspire the king with an appetite in the
midst of plenty, and with desire in the assurance of possession. La
Valliere's fears of interruption had never been realized, and no one
imagined she was absent from her apartment two or three hours every day.
She pretended that her health was very uncertain: those who went to her
room always knocked before entering, and Malicorne, the man of so many
ingenious inventions, had constructed an acoustic piece of mechanism, by
means of which La Valliere, when in Saint-Aignan's apartment, was always
forewarned of any visits which were paid to the room she usually
inhabited. In this manner, therefore, without leaving her own room, and
having no confidante, she was able to return to her apartment, thus
removing by her appearance, a little tardy perhaps, the suspicions of
the most determined skeptics. Malicorne having asked Saint-Aignan the
next morning what news he had to report, the latter had been obliged to
confess that the quarter of an hour's liberty had made the king in most
excellent humor.
"We must double the dose," replied Malicorne, "but insensibly so; wait
until they seem to wish it."
They were so desirous for it, however, that on the evening of the fourth
day, at the moment when the painter was packing up his painting
implements, during Saint-Aignan's continued absence, Saint-Aignan on his
return noticed upon La Valliere's face a shade of disappointment and
vexation, which she could not conceal. The king was less reserved, and
exhibited his annoyance by a very significant shrug of the shoulders, at
which La Valliere could not help blushing.
"Very good!" thought Saint-Aignan to himself; "M. Malicorne will be
delighted this evening;" as he, in fact, was when it was reported to
him.
"It is very evident," he remarked to the comte, "that Mademoiselle de la
Valliere hoped that you would be at least ten minutes later."
"And the king that I should be half an hour later, dear Monsieur
Malicorne."
"You will be but very indifferently devoted to the king," replied the
latter, "if you were to refuse his majesty that half hour's
satisfaction."
"But the painter?" objected Saint-Aignan.
"I will take care of him," said Malicorne, "only I must study faces and
circumstances a little before I act; those are my magical inventions and
contrivances: and while sorcerers are enabled by means of their
astrolabe to take the altitude of the sun, moon, and stars, I am
satisfied merely by looking into people's faces, in order to see if
their eyes are encircled with dark lines, and if the mouth describes a
convex or concave arc."
And the cunning Malicorne had every opportunity of watching narrowly
and closely, for the very same evening the king accompanied the queen to
Madame's apartments, and made himself so remarked by his serious face
and his deep sighs, and looked at La Valliere with such a languishing
expression, that Malicorne said to Montalais during the evening:
"To-morrow." And he went off to the painter's house in the street of the
Jardins Saint-Paul to beg him to postpone the next sitting for a couple
of days. Saint-Aignan was not within, when La Valliere, who was now
quite familiar with the lower story, lifted up the trap-door and
descended. The king, as usual, was waiting for her on the staircase, and
held a bouquet in his hand; as soon as he saw her, he clasped her
tenderly in his arms. La Valliere, much moved at the action, looked
around the room, but as she saw the king was alone, she did not complain
of it. They sat down, the king reclining near the cushions on which
Louise was seated, with his head supported by her knees, placed there as
in an asylum whence no one could banish him; he gazed ardently upon her,
and as if the moment had arrived when nothing could interpose between
their two hearts; she, too, gazed with similar passion upon him, and
from her eyes, so soft and pure, there emanated a flame, whose rays
first kindled and then inflamed the heart of the king, who, trembling
with happiness as Louise's hand rested on his head, grew giddy from
excess of joy, and momentarily awaited either the painter's or
Saint-Aignan's return to break the sweet illusion. But the door remained
closed, and neither Saint-Aignan nor the painter appeared, nor did the
hangings even move. A deep mysterious silence reigned in the room--a
silence which seemed to influence even the birds in their gilded prison.
The king, completely overcome, turned round his head and buried his
burning lips in La Valliere's hands, who, herself, faint with excess of
emotion, pressed her trembling hands against her lover's lips. Louis
threw himself upon his knees, and as La Valliere did not move her head,
the king's forehead being within reach of her lips, she furtively
passed her lips across the perfumed locks which caressed her cheeks. The
king seized her in his arms, and, unable to resist the temptation, they
exchanged their first kiss--that burning kiss, which changes love into a
delirium. Suddenly, a noise upon the upper floor was heard, which had,
in fact, continued, though it had remained unnoticed, for some time; it
had at last aroused La Valliere's attention, though but slowly so. As
the noise, however, continued, as it forced itself upon the attention,
and recalled the poor girl from her dreams of happiness to the sad
reality of life, she arose in a state of utter bewilderment, though
beautiful in her disorder, saying: "Some one is waiting, for
above--Louis, Louis, do you not hear?"
"Well! and am I not waiting for you, also?" said the king, with infinite
tenderness of tone. "Let others henceforth wait for you."
But she gently shook her head, as she replied, "Concealed happiness ...
concealed power ... my pride should be silent as my heart."
The noise was again resumed.
"I hear Montalais's voice," she said, and she hurried up the staircase;
the king followed her, unable to let her leave his sight, and covering
her hand with his kisses. "Yes, yes," repeated La Valliere, who had
passed half-way through the opening, "Yes, it is Montalais who is
calling me; something important must have happened."
"Go, then, dearest love," said the king, "but return quickly."
"No, no, not to-day, sire! Adieu, adieu!" she said, as she stooped down
once more to embrace her lover, and then escaped. Montalais was, in
fact, waiting for her, very pale and agitated.
"Quick, quick! he is coming!" she said.
"Who--who is coming?"
"Raoul," murmured Montalais.
"It is I--I," said a joyous voice upon the last steps of the grand
staircase.
La Valliere uttered a terrible shriek, and threw herself back.
"I am here, dear Louise," said Raoul, running toward her. "I knew but
too well that you had not ceased to love; me."
La Valliere, with a gesture, partly of extreme terror, and partly as if
invoking a curse, attempted to speak, but could not articulate one word.
"No, no!" she said, as she fell into Montalais's arms, murmuring: "Do
not touch me, do not come near me."
Montalais made a sign to Raoul, who stood almost petrified at the door,
and did not even attempt to advance another step into the room. Then,
looking toward the side of the room where the screen was, she exclaimed:
"Imprudent girl, she has not even closed the trap-door."
And she advanced toward the corner of the room to close the screen, and
also, behind the screen, the trap-door. But suddenly the king, who had
heard Louise's exclamation, darted through the opening, and hurried
forward to her assistance. He threw himself on his knees before her, as
he overwhelmed Montalais with questions, who hardly knew where she was.
At the moment, however, that the king threw himself on his knees, a cry
of utter despair rang through the corridor, accompanied by the sound of
retreating footsteps. The king wished to see who had uttered the cry,
and whose were the footsteps he had heard: and it was in vain that
Montalais sought to retain him, for Louis, quitting his hold of La
Valliere, hurried toward the door, too late, however, for Raoul was
already at a distance, and the king saw only a kind of shadow turning
the angle of the corridor.