Chapter 36 - Page 2

Valliere gently pressed her royal lover's hand.

"Shall we pass into the next room, sire?" said Saint-Aignan, opening the
door to let his guests precede him. The king walked behind La Valliere,
and fixed his eyes lingeringly and passionately upon that neck as white
as snow, upon which her long fair ringlets fell in heavy masses. La
Valliere was dressed in a thick silk robe of pearl gray color, with a
tinge of rose, with jet ornaments, which displayed to greater effect the
dazzling purity of her skin, holding in her slender and transparent hands
a bouquet of heartsease, Bengal roses, and clematis, surrounded with
leaves of the tenderest green, above which uprose, like a tiny goblet
spilling magic influence a Haarlem tulip of gray and violet tints of a
pure and beautiful species, which had cost the gardener five years' toil
of combinations, and the king five thousand francs. Louis had placed
this bouquet in La Valliere's hand as he saluted her. In the room, the
door of which Saint-Aignan had just opened, a young man was standing,
dressed in a purple velvet jacket, with beautiful black eyes and long
brown hair. It was the painter; his canvas was quite ready, and his
palette prepared for use.

He bowed to La Valliere with the grave curiosity of an artist who is
studying his model, saluted the king discreetly, as if he did not
recognize him, and as he would, consequently, have saluted any other
gentleman. Then, leading Mademoiselle de la Valliere to the seat he had
arranged for her, he begged her to sit down.

The young girl assumed an attitude graceful and unrestrained, her hands
occupied and her limbs reclining on cushions; and in order that her gaze
might not assume a vague or affected expression, the painter begged her
to choose some kind of occupation, so as to engage her attention;
whereupon Louis XIV., smiling, sat down on the cushions at La Valliere's
feet; so that she, in the reclining posture she had assumed, leaning back
in the armchair, holding her flowers in her hand, and he, with his eyes
raised towards her and fixed devouringly on her face - they, both
together, formed so charming a group, that the artist contemplated
painting it with professional delight, while on his side, Saint-Aignan
regarded them with feelings of envy. The painter sketched rapidly; and
very soon, beneath the earliest touches of the brush, there started into
life, out of the gray background, the gentle, poetry-breathing face, with
its soft calm eyes and delicately tinted cheeks, enframed in the masses
of hair which fell about her neck. The lovers, however, spoke but
little, and looked at each other a great deal; sometimes their eyes
became so languishing in their gaze, that the painter was obliged to
interrupt his work in