Chapter 54 - Page 2

one here is making remarks about us."

"Speak for yourself," said Montalais, laughing, "speak for yourself and
for Tonnay-Charente; for both of you made your declarations of love to
the skies, which unfortunately were intercepted."

La Valliere hung down her head. "Really you overwhelm me," she said.

"I?"

"Yes, you torture me with your jests."

"Listen to me, Louise. These are no jests, for nothing is more serious;
on the contrary, I did not drag you out of the chateau; I did not miss
attending mass; I did not pretend to have a cold, as Madame did, which
she has no more than I have; and, lastly, I did not display ten times
more diplomacy than M. Colbert inherited from M. de Mazarin, and makes
use of with respect to M. Fouquet, in order to find means of confiding my
perplexities to you, for the sole end and purpose that, when at last we
were alone, with no one to listen to us, you should deal hypocritically
with me. No, no; believe me, that when I ask you a question, it is not
from curiosity alone, but really because the position is a critical one.
What you said yesterday is now known, - it is a text on which every one
is discoursing. Every one embellishes it to the utmost, and according to
his own fancy; you had the honor last night, and you have it still to-
day, of occupying the whole court, my dear Louise; and the number of
tender and witty remarks which have been ascribed to you, would make
Mademoiselle de Scudery and her brother burst from very spite, if they
were faithfully reported."

"But, dearest Montalais," said the poor girl, "you know better than any
one exactly what I said, since you were present when I said it."

"Yes, I know. But that is not the question. I have not forgotten a
single syllable you uttered, but did you think what you were saying?"

Louise became confused. "What," she exclaimed, "more questions still!
Oh, heavens! when I would give the world to forget what I did say, how
does it happen that every one does all he possibly can to remind me of
it? Oh, this is indeed terrible!"

"What is?"

"To have a friend who ought to spare me, who might advise me and help me
to save myself, and yet who is undoing me - is killing me."

"There, there, that will do," said Montalais; "after having said too
little, you now say too much. No one thinks of killing you, nor even of
robbing you, even of your secret; I wish to have it voluntarily, and in
no other way; for the question does not concern your own affairs only,
but ours also; and Tonnay-Charente would tell you as I do, if she were
here. For, the fact is, that last evening she wished to have some
private conversation in our room, and I was going there after the
Manicamp and Malicorne