Chapter 31 - Page 2

whom he began to talk in a light tone. They were amusing
themselves making rhymes; from Mademoiselle de Chatillon he went to
Montalais, and then to Mademoiselle de Tonnay-Charente. And thus, by
this skillful maneuver, he found himself seated opposite to La Valliere,
whom he completely concealed. Madame pretended to be greatly occupied,
altering a group of flowers that she was working in tapestry. The king
showed the corner of his letter to La Valliere, and the latter held out
her handkerchief with a look that signified, "Put the letter inside."
Then, as the king had placed his own handkerchief upon his chair, he was
adroit enough to let it fall on the ground, so that La Valliere slipped
her handkerchief on the chair. The king took it up quietly, without any
one observing what he did, placed the letter within it, and returned the
handkerchief to the place he had taken it from. There was only just time
for La Valliere to stretch out her hand to take hold of the handkerchief
with its valuable contents.

But Madame, who had observed everything that had passed, said to
Mademoiselle de Chatillon, "Chatillon, be good enough to pick up the
king's handkerchief, if you please; it has fallen on the carpet."

The young girl obeyed with the utmost precipitation, the king having
moved from his seat, and La Valliere being in no little degree nervous
and confused.

"Ah! I beg your majesty's pardon," said Mademoiselle de Chatillon; "you
have two handkerchiefs, I perceive."

And the king was accordingly obliged to put into his pocket La Valliere's
handkerchief as well as his own. He certainly gained that souvenir of
Louise, who lost, however, a copy of verses which had cost the king ten
hours' hard labor, and which, as far as he was concerned, was perhaps as
good as a long poem. It would be impossible to describe the king's anger
and La Valliere's despair; but shortly afterwards a circumstance occurred
which was more than remarkable. When the king left, in order to retire
to his own apartments, Malicorne, informed of what had passed, one can
hardly tell how, was waiting in the ante-chamber. The ante-chambers of
the Palais Royal are naturally very dark, and, in the evening, they were
but indifferently lighted. Nothing pleased the king more than this dim
light. As a general rule, love, whose mind and heart are constantly in a
blaze, contemns all light, except the sunshine of the soul. And so the
ante-chamber was dark; a page carried a torch before the king, who walked
on slowly, greatly annoyed at what had recently occurred. Malicorne
passed close to the king, almost stumbled against him in fact, and begged
his forgiveness with the profoundest humility; but the king, who was in
an exceedingly ill-temper, was very