CHAPTER III.
THE STORM.
The dawn of the following day was dark and gloomy, and as every one knewthat the promenade was set down in the royal programme, every one'sgaze, as his eyes were opened, was directed toward the sky. Just abovethe tops of the trees a thick, suffocating vapor seemed to remainsuspended, with hardly sufficient power to rise thirty feet above theground under the influence of the sun's rays, which could barely be seenthrough the veil of a heavy and thick mist. No dew had fallen in themorning; the turf was dried up for want of moisture, the flowers werewithered. The birds sung less inspiritingly than usual amid the boughs,which remained as motionless as death. The strange confused and animatedmurmurs, which seemed born of, and to exist by the sun, that respirationof nature which is unceasingly heard amid all other sounds, could notbe heard now, and never had the silence been so profound. The king hadnoticed the cheerless aspect of the heavens as he approached the windowimmediately after rising. But as all the necessary directions had beengiven respecting the promenade, and every preparation had been madeaccordingly, and as, which was far more imperious than everything else,Louis relied upon this promenade to satisfy the cravings of hisimagination, and we will even already say, the clamorous desires of hisheart--the king unhesitatingly decided that the appearance of theheavens had nothing whatever to do with the matter; that the promenadewas arranged, and that, whatever the state of the weather might be, thepromenade should take place. Besides there are certain terrestrialsovereigns who seem to have accorded them privileged existences, andthere are certain times when it might almost be supposed that theexpressed wish of an earthly monarch has its influence over the Divinewill. It was Virgil who observed of Augustus: _Nocte placet tota redeuntspectacula mane_. Louis attended mass as usual, but it was evident thathis attention was somewhat distracted from the presence of the Creatorby the remembrance of the creature. His mind was occupied during theservice in reckoning more than once the number of minutes, then ofseconds, which separated him from the blissful moment when the promenadewould begin, that is to say, the moment when Madame would set out withher maids of honor.
Besides, as a matter of course, everybody at the chateau was ignorant ofthe interview which had taken place between La Valliere and the king.Montalais, perhaps, with her usual chattering propensity, might havebeen disposed to talk about it; but Montalais on this occasion was heldin check by Malicorne, who had placed upon her lips the padlock ofmutual interest. As for Louis XIV., his happiness was so extreme that hehad forgiven Madame, or nearly so, her little piece of ill-nature of theprevious evening. In fact, he had occasion to congratulate himselfabout it rather than to complain of it. Had it not been for herill-natured action, he would not have received the letter from LaValliere; had it not been for the letter, he would have had nointerview; and had it not been for the interview he would have remainedundecided. His heart was filled with too much happiness for anyill-feeling to remain in it, at that moment at least. Instead,therefore, of knitting his brows into a frown when he perceived hissister-in-law, Louis resolved to receive her in a more friendly andgracious manner than usual. But on one condition only, that she would beready to set out early. Such was the nature of Louis's thoughts duringmass, and which made him, during the ceremony, forget matters, which, inhis character of Most Christian King and of the oldest son of theChurch, ought to have occupied his attention. He returned to thechateau, and as the promenade was fixed for mid-day only, and it was atpresent just ten o'clock, he set to work most desperately with Colbertand Lyonne. But even while he worked, Louis went from the table to thewindow, inasmuch as the window looked out upon Madame's pavilion; hecould see M. Fouquet in the courtyard, to whom the courtiers, since thefavor shown toward him on the previous evening, paid greater attentionthan ever. The king, instinctively, on noticing Fouquet, turned towardColbert, who was smiling, and seemed full of benevolence and delight, astate of feeling which had arisen from the very moment one of hissecretaries had entered and handed him a pocket-book, which he had putunopened into his pocket. But, as there was always something sinister atthe bottom of any delight expressed by Colbert, Louis preferred of thesmiles of the two men that of Fouquet. He beckoned to the surintendantto come up, and then, turning toward Lyonne and Colbert, he said:"Finish this matter, place it on my desk, and I will read it at myleisure." And he left the room. At the sign the king had made to him,Fouquet had hastened up the staircase, while Aramis, who was with thesurintendant, quietly retired among the group of courtiers, anddisappeared without having been even observed by the king. The king andFouquet met at the top of the staircase.
"Sire," said Fouquet, remarking the gracious manner in which Louis wasabout to receive him, "your majesty has overwhelmed me with kindnessduring the last few days. It is not a youthful monarch, but a being of ahigher order, who reigns over France--one whom pleasure, happiness, andlove acknowledge as their master." The king colored. The compliment,although flattering, was not the less somewhat direct. Louis conductedFouquet to a small room which separated his study from his sleepingapartment.
"Do you know why I summoned you?" said the king, as he seated himselfupon the edge of the window, so as not to lose anything that might bepassing in the gardens which fronted the opposite entrance to Madame'spavilion.
"No, sire," replied Fouquet; "but I am sure for something agreeable, ifI am to judge from your majesty's gracious smile."
"You are mistaken, then."
"I, sire?"
"For I summoned you, on the contrary, to pick a quarrel with you."
"With me, sire?"
"Yes, and that a serious one."
"Your majesty alarms me; and yet I wait most confident in your justiceand goodness."
"Do you know I am told, Monsieur Fouquet, that you are preparing a grand_fete_ at Vaux."
Fouquet smiled, as a sick man would do at the first shiver of a feverwhich has left him but returns again.
"And that you have not invited me!" continued the king.
"Sire," replied Fouquet, "I have not even thought of the _fete_ youspeak of, and it was only yesterday evening that one of my _friends_"(Fouquet laid a stress upon the word) "was kind enough to make me thinkof it."
"Yet I saw you yesterday evening, Monsieur Fouquet, and you said nothingto me about it."
"How dared I hope that your majesty would so greatly descend from yourown exalted station as to honor my dwelling with your royal presence?"
"Excuse me, Monsieur Fouquet, you did not speak to me about your_fete_."
"I did not allude to the _fete_ to your majesty, I repeat, in the firstplace, because nothing had been decided with regard to it, and,secondly, because I feared a refusal."
"And something made you fear a refusal, Monsieur Fouquet? You see I amdetermined to push you hard."
"The profound wish I had that your majesty should accept myinvitation--"
"Well, Monsieur Fouquet, nothing is easier, I perceive, than our comingto an understanding. Your wish is to invite me to your _fete_--my own isto be present at it; invite me, and I will go."
"Is it possible that your majesty will deign to accept?" murmured thesurintendant.
"Why, really, monsieur," said the king, laughing, "I think I do morethan accept--I think I invite myself."
"Your majesty overwhelms me with honor and delight!" exclaimed Fouquet;"but I shall be obliged to repeat what M. de Vieuville said to yourancestor Henry the Fourth, '_Domine non sum dignus_.'"
"To which I reply, Monsieur Fouquet, that if you give a _fete_, I willgo whether I am invited or not."
"I thank your majesty deeply," said Fouquet, as he raised his headbeneath this favor, which he was convinced would be his ruin.
"But how could your majesty have been informed of it?"
"By public rumor, Monsieur Fouquet, which says such wonderful things ofyourself and of the marvels of your house. Would you become proud,Monsieur Fouquet, if the king were to be jealous of you?"
"I should be the happiest man in the world, sire
, since the very day onwhich your majesty were to be jealous of Vaux, I should possesssomething worthy of being offered to you."
"Very well, Monsieur Fouquet, prepare your _fete_, and open the doorsof your house as wide as possible."
AS THE RAIN DRIPPED MORE AND MORE THROUGH THE FOLIAGEOF THE OAK, THE KING HELD HIS HAT OVER THE HEAD OF THE YOUNGGIRL.--_Page 22._]
"It is for your majesty to fix the day."
"This day month, then."
"Has your majesty any further commands?"
"Nothing, Monsieur Fouquet, except from the present moment until then tohave you near me as much as possible."
"I have the honor to form one of your majesty's party for thepromenade."
"Very good. I am now going out indeed, for there are the ladies, I see,who are going to start."
With this remark, the king, with all the eagerness, not only of a youngman, but of a young man in love, withdrew from the window, in order totake his gloves and cane, which his valet held ready for him. Theneighing of the horses and the rumbling of the wheels on the gravel ofthe courtyard could be distinctly heard. The king descended the stairs,and at the moment he made his appearance upon the flight of steps everyone stopped. The king walked straight up to the young queen. Thequeen-mother, who was still suffering more than ever from the illnesswith which she was afflicted, did not wish to go out. Maria Theresaaccompanied Madame in her carriage, and asked the king in what directionhe wished the promenade to take place. The king, who had just seen LaValliere, still pale from the events of the previous evening, get into acarriage with three of her companions, told the queen that he had nopreference, and wherever she would wish to go, there would he be withher. The queen then desired that the out-riders should proceed in thedirection of Apremont. The out-riders set off, accordingly, before theothers. The king rode on horseback, and for a few minutes accompaniedthe carriage of the queen and Madame, with his hand resting upon thedoor. The weather had cleared up a little, but a kind of veil of dust,like a thick gauze, was still spread over the surface of the heavens,and the sun made every glittering atom of dust glisten again within thecircuit of its rays. The heat was stifling; but as the king did not seemto pay any attention to the appearance of the heavens, no one madehimself uneasy about it, and the promenade, in obedience to the orderswhich had been given by the queen, took its course in the direction ofApremont. The courtiers who followed were merry and full of spirits; itwas evident that every one tried to forget, and to make others forget,the bitter discussions of the previous evening. Madame, particularly,was delightful; in fact, seeing the king at the door of her carriage, asshe did not suppose he would be there for the queen's sake, she hopedthat her prince had returned to her. Hardly, however, had they proceededa quarter of a mile on the road, when the king, with a gracious smile,saluted them and drew up his horse, leaving the queen's carriage to passon, then that of the principal ladies of honor, and then all the othersin succession, who, seeing the king stop, wished in their turn to stoptoo; but the king made a sign to them to continue their progress. WhenLa Valliere's carriage passed, the king approached it, saluted theladies who were inside, and was preparing to accompany the carriagecontaining the maids of honor, in the same way he had followed that inwhich Madame was, when suddenly the whole file of carriages stopped. Itwas probable that Madame, uneasy at the king having left her, had justgiven directions for the performance of this maneuver, the direction inwhich the promenade was to take place having been left to her. The kinghaving sent to inquire what her object was in stopping the carriages,was informed in reply that she wished to walk. She very likely hopedthat the king, who was following the carriages of the maids of honor onhorseback, would not venture to follow the maids of honor themselves onfoot. They had arrived in the middle of the forest. The promenade, infact, was not ill-timed, especially for those who were dreamers orlovers. From the little open space where the halt had taken place, threebeautiful long walks, shady and undulating, stretched out before them.These walks were covered with moss, with leaves lying scattered idlyabout; and each walk had its horizon in the distance, consisting ofabout a handbreadth of sky, apparent through the interlacing of thebranches of the trees. At the end of the walks, evidently in greattribulation and uneasiness, the startled deer were seen hurrying to andfro, first stopping for a moment in the middle of the path, and thenraising their heads, they fled with the speed of an arrow, or boundedinto the depths of the forest, where they disappeared from view; now andthen a rabbit of philosophical mien could be noticed quietly sittingupright, rubbing his muzzle with his fore-paws, and looking aboutinquiringly, as though wondering whether all these people, who wereapproaching in his direction, and who had just disturbed him in hismeditations and his meal, were not followed by their dogs, or had nottheir guns under their arms. All alighted from their carriages as soonas they observed that the queen was doing so. Maria Theresa took the armof one of her ladies of honor, and, with a side-glance toward the king,who did not perceive that he was in the slightest degree the object ofthe queen's attention, entered the forest by the first path before her.Two of the out-riders preceded her majesty with long poles, which theyused for the purpose of putting the branches of the trees aside, orremoving the bushes which might impede her progress. As soon as Madamealighted, she found the Comte de Guiche at her side, who bowed andplaced himself at her disposal. Monsieur, delighted with his bath of thetwo previous days, had announced his preference for the river, and,having given De Guiche leave of absence, remained at the chateau withthe Chevalier de Lorraine and Manicamp. He was not in the slightestdegree jealous. He had been looked for to no purpose among thosepresent; but as Monsieur was a man who thought a great deal of himself,and usually added very little to the general pleasure, his absence hadrather been a subject of satisfaction than of regret. Every one hadfollowed the example which the queen and Madame had set, doing just asthey pleased, according as chance or fancy influenced them. The king,we have already observed, remained near Valliere, and, throwing himselfoff his horse at the moment the door of her carriage was opened, heoffered her his hand to alight. Montalais and Tonnay-Charenteimmediately drew back and kept at a distance; the former fromcalculated, the latter from prudent, motives. There was this difference,however, between the two, that the one had withdrawn from a wish toplease the king, the other for a very opposite reason. During the lasthalf hour the weather also had undergone a change; the veil which hadbeen spread over the sky, as if driven by a blast of heated air, hadbecome massed together in the western part of the heavens; and afterwardas if driven back by a current of air from the opposite direction, wasnow advancing slowly and heavily toward them. The approach of the stormcould be felt, but as the king did not perceive it, no one thought itwas right to do so. The promenade was therefore continued; some of thecompany, with minds ill at ease on the subject, raised their eyes fromtime to time toward the sky; others, even more timid still, walked aboutwithout wandering too far from the carriages, where they relied upontaking shelter in case the storm burst. The greater number of these,however, observing that the king fearlessly entered the wood with LaValliere, followed his majesty. The king, noticing this, took LaValliere's hand, and led her away by a side-path, where no one this timeventured to follow him.
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