_ History will tell us, or rather history has told us, of the various
events of the following day, of the splendid _fetes_ given by the
surintendant to his sovereign. Nothing but amusement and delight was
allowed to prevail throughout the whole of the following day; there was
a promenade, a banquet, a comedy to be acted, and a comedy, too, in
which, to his great amazement, Porthos recognized "M. Coquelin de
Voliere" as one of the actors, in the piece called "Les Facheux." Full
of preoccupation, however, from the scene of the previous evening, and
hardly recovered from the effects of the poison which Colbert had then
administered to him, the king, during the whole of the day, so brilliant
in its effects, so full of unexpected and startling novelties, in which
all the wonders of the "Arabian Night's Entertainments" seemed to be
reproduced for his especial amusement - the king, we say, showed himself
cold, reserved, and taciturn. Nothing could smooth the frowns upon his
face; every one who observed him noticed that a deep feeling of
resentment, of remote origin, increased by slow degrees, as the source
becomes a river, thanks to the thousand threads of water that increase
its body, was keenly alive in the depths of the king's heart. Towards
the middle of the day only did he begin to resume a little serenity of
manner, and by that time he had, in all probability, made up his mind.
Aramis, who followed him step by step in his thoughts, as in his walk,
concluded that the event he was expecting would not be long before it was
announced. This time Colbert seemed to walk in concert with the bishop
of Vannes, and had he received for every annoyance which he inflicted on
the king a word of direction from Aramis, he could not have done better.
During the whole of the day the king, who, in all probability, wished to
free himself from some of the thoughts which disturbed his mind, seemed
to seek La Valliere's society as actively as he seemed to show his
anxiety to flee that of M. Colbert or M. Fouquet. The evening came. The
king had expressed a wish not to walk in the park until after cards in
the evening. In the interval between supper and the promenade, cards and
dice were introduced. The king won a thousand pistoles, and, having won
them, put them in his pocket, and then rose, saying, "And now, gentlemen,
to the park." He found the ladies of the court were already there. The
king, we have before observed, had won a thousand pistoles, and had put
them in his pocket; but M. Fouquet had somehow contrived to lose ten
thousand, so that among the courtiers there was still left a hundred and
ninety thousand francs' profit to divide, a circumstance which made the
countenances of the courtiers and the officers of the king's household
the most joyous countenances in the world. It was not the same, however,
with the king's face; for, notwithstanding his success at play, to which
he was by no means insensible, there still remained a slight shade of
dissatisfaction. Colbert was waiting for or upon him at the corner of
one of the avenues; he was most probably waiting there in consequence of
a rendezvous which had been given him by the king, as Louis XIV., who had
avoided him, or who had seemed to avoid him, suddenly made him a sign,
and they then struck into the depths of the park together. But La
Valliere, too, had observed the king's gloomy aspect and kindling
glances; she had remarked this - and as nothing which lay hidden or
smoldering in his heart was hidden from the gaze of her affection, she
understood that this repressed wrath menaced some one; she prepared to
withstand the current of his vengeance, and intercede like an angel of
mercy. Overcome by sadness, nervously agitated, deeply distressed at
having been so long separated from her lover, disturbed at the sight of
the emotion she had divined, she accordingly presented herself to the
king with an embarrassed aspect, which in his then disposition of mind
the king interpreted unfavorably. Then, as they were alone - nearly
alone, inasmuch as Colbert, as soon as he perceived the young girl
approaching, had stopped and drawn back a dozen paces - the king advanced
towards La Valliere and took her by the hand. "Mademoiselle," he said to
her, "should I be guilty of an indiscretion if I were to inquire if you
were indisposed? for you seem to breathe as if you were oppressed by some
secret cause of uneasiness, and your eyes are filled with tears."
"Oh! sire, if I be indeed so, and if my eyes are indeed full of tears, I
am sorrowful only at the sadness which seems to oppress your majesty."
"My sadness? You are mistaken, mademoiselle; no, it is not sadness I
experience."
"What is it, then, sire?"
"Humiliation."
"Humiliation? oh! sire, what a word for you to use!"
"I mean, mademoiselle, that wherever I may happen to be, no one else
ought to be the master. Well, then, look round you on every side, and
judge whether I am not eclipsed - I, the king of France - before the
monarch of these wide domains. Oh!" he continued, clenching his hands
and teeth, "when I think that this king - "
"Well, sire?" said Louise, terrified.
" - That this king is a faithless, unworthy servant, who grows proud and
self-sufficient upon the strength of property that belongs to me, and
which he has stolen. And therefore I am about to change this impudent
minister's _fete_ into sorrow and mourning, of which the nymph of Vaux,
as the poets say, shall not soon lose the remembrance."
"Oh! your majesty - "
"Well, mademoiselle, are you about to take M. Fouquet's part?" said
Louis, impatiently.
"No, sire; I will only ask whether you are well informed. Your majesty
has more than once learned the value of accusations made at court."
Louis XIV. made a sign for Colbert to approach. "Speak, Monsieur
Colbert," said the young prince, "for I almost believe that Mademoiselle
de la Valliere has need of your assistance before she can put any faith
in the king's word. Tell mademoiselle what M. Fouquet has done; and you,
mademoiselle, will perhaps have the kindness to listen. It will not be
long."
Why did Louis XIV. insist upon it in such a manner? A very simple reason
- his heart was not at rest, his mind was not thoroughly convinced; he
imagined there lay some dark, hidden, tortuous intrigue behind these
thirteen millions of francs; and he wished that the pure heart of La
Valliere, which had revolted at the idea of theft or robbery, should
approve - even were it only by a single word - the resolution he had
taken, and which, nevertheless, he hesitated before carrying into
execution.
"Speak, monsieur," said La Valliere to Colbert, who had advanced; "speak,
since the king wishes me to listen to you. Tell me, what is the crime
with which M. Fouquet is charged?"
"Oh! not very heinous, mademoiselle," he returned, "a mere abuse of
confidence."
"Speak, speak, Colbert; and when you have related it, leave us, and go
and inform M. d'Artagnan that I have certain orders to give him."
"M. d'Artagnan, sire!" exclaimed La Valliere; "but why send for M.
d'Artagnan? I entreat you to tell me."
"_Pardieu!_ in order to arrest this haughty, arrogant Titan who, true to
his menace, threatens to scale my heaven."
"Arrest M. Fouquet, do you say?"
"Ah! does that surprise you?"
"In his own house!"
"Why not? If he be guilty, he is as guilty in his own house as anywhere
else."
"M. Fouquet, who at this moment is ruining himself for his sovereign."
"In plain truth, mademoiselle, it seems as if you were defending this
traitor."
Colbert began to chuckle silently. The king turned round at the sound of
this suppressed mirth.
"Sire," said La Valliere, "it is not M. Fouquet I am defending; it is
yourself."
"Me! you are defending me?"
"Sire, you would dishonor yourself if you were to give such an order."
"Dishonor myself!" murmured the king, turning pale with anger. "In plain
truth, mademoiselle, you show a strange persistence in what you say."
"If I do, sire, my only motive is that of serving your majesty," replied
the noble-hearted girl: "for that I would risk, I would sacrifice my very
life, without the least reserve."
Colbert seemed inclined to grumble and complain. La Valliere, that
timid, gentle lamb, turned round upon him, and with a glance like
lightning imposed silence upon him. "Monsieur," she said, "when the king
acts well, whether, in doing so, he does either myself or those who
belong to me an injury, I have nothing to say; but were the king to
confer a benefit either upon me or mine, and if he acted badly, I should
tell him so."
"But it appears to me, mademoiselle," Colbert ventured to say, "that I
too love the king."
"Yes, monseigneur, we both love him, but each in a different manner,"
replied La Valliere, with such an accent that the heart of the young king
was powerfully affected by it. "I love him so deeply, that the whole
world is aware of it; so purely, that the king himself does not doubt my
affection. He is my king and my master; I am the least of all his
servants. But whoso touches his honor assails my life. Therefore, I
repeat, that they dishonor the king who advise him to arrest M. Fouquet
under his own roof."
Colbert hung down his head, for he felt that the king had abandoned him.
However, as he bent his head, he murmured, "Mademoiselle, I have only one
word to say."
"Do not say it, then, monsieur; for I would not listen to it. Besides,
what could you have to tell me? That M. Fouquet has been guilty of
certain crimes? I believe he has, because the king has said so; and,
from the moment the king said, 'I think so,' I have no occasion for other
lips to say, 'I affirm it.' But, were M. Fouquet the vilest of men, I
should say aloud, 'M. Fouquet's person is sacred to the king because he
is the guest of M. Fouquet. Were his house a den of thieves, were Vaux a
cave of coiners or robbers, his home is sacred, his palace is inviolable,
since his wife is living in it; and that is an asylum which even
executioners would not dare to violate.'"
La Valliere paused, and was silent. In spite of himself the king could
not but admire her; he was overpowered by the passionate energy of her
voice; by the nobleness of the cause she advocated. Colbert yielded,
overcome by the inequality of the struggle. At last the king breathed
again more freely, shook his head, and held out his hand to La Valliere.
"Mademoiselle," he said, gently, "why do you decide against me? Do you
know what this wretched fellow will do, if I give him time to breathe
again?"
"Is he not a prey which will always be within your grasp?"
"Should he escape, and take to flight?" exclaimed Colbert.
"Well, monsieur, it will always remain on record, to the king's eternal
honor, that he allowed M. Fouquet to flee; and the more guilty he may
have been, the greater will the king's honor and glory appear, compared
with such unnecessary misery and shame."
Louis kissed La Valliere's hand, as he knelt before her.
"I am lost," thought Colbert; then suddenly his face brightened up
again. "Oh! no, no, aha, old fox! - not yet," he said to himself.
And while the king, protected from observation by the thick covert of an
enormous lime, pressed La Valliere to his breast, with all the ardor of
ineffable affection, Colbert tranquilly fumbled among the papers in his
pocket-book and drew out of it a paper folded in the form of a letter,
somewhat yellow, perhaps, but one that must have been most precious,
since the intendant smiled as he looked at it; he then bent a look, full
of hatred, upon the charming group which the young girl and the king
formed together - a group revealed but for a moment, as the light of the
approaching torches shone upon it. Louis noticed the light reflected
upon La Valliere's white dress. "Leave me, Louise," he said, "for some
one is coming."
"Mademoiselle, mademoiselle, some one is coming," cried Colbert, to
expedite the young girl's departure.
Louise disappeared rapidly among the trees; and then, as the king, who
had been on his knees before the young girl, was rising from his humble
posture, Colbert exclaimed, "Ah! Mademoiselle de la Valliere has let
something fall."
"What is it?" inquired the king.
"A paper - a letter - something white; look there, sire."
The king stooped down immediately and picked up the letter, crumpling it
in his hand, as he did so; and at the same moment the torches arrived,
inundating the blackness of the scene with a flood of light as bight as
day. _