Colbert was waiting for him at the corner of one of the avenues; he was most probably waiting there by appointment, 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 smouldering in his heart was impenetrable to her affection, she understood that this repressed wrath menaced some one. She put herself upon the road of vengeance, 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 that emotion which she had divined, she presented herself to the King with an embarrassed aspect, which in his evil mood the King interpreted unfavorably. Then, as they were alone, or 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 are indisposed? You seem to breathe as if you were distressed, and your eyes are filled with tears.”
“Oh, Sire, if I am distressed, and if my eyes are full of tears, it is for the sadness of 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 king of these wide domains. Oh!” he continued, clinching his hands and teeth, “when I think that this king-”
“Well, Sire?” said Louise, terrified.
“That this king is a faithless, unworthy servant, who becomes proud with my stolen property- And therefore am I about to change this impudent minister’s fete into a 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, M. Colbert,” said the young King; “for I almost believe that Mademoiselle de la Valliere has need of your assurance 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? For a very simple reason,- his heart was not at rest; his mind was not thoroughly convinced; he imagined there was some dark, hidden, tortuous intrigue concealed beneath these thirteen million livres; and he wished that the pure heart of La Valliere, which had revolted at the idea of a theft or robbery, should approve, even were it only by a single word, the resolution which he had taken, and which, nevertheless, he hesitated about 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 simple abuse of confidence.”
“Speak, speak, Colbert; and when you shall have related it, leave us, and go and inform M. d’Artagnan that I have 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 Titan, who, true to his motto, threatens to scale my heaven.”
“Arrest M. Fouquet, do you say?”
“Ah! does that surprise you?”
“In his own house?”