She hid her face in her hands.
“You see,” said the king, “that I am right in accusing you; you must admit you are changeable, capricious, a coquette, perhaps.”
“Oh, no! sire, be perfectly satisfied as to that. No, I say again; no, no!”
“Promise me, then, that to me you will always be the same.”
“Oh! always, sire.”
“That you will never show any of that severity which would break my heart, none of that fickleness of manner which would be worse than death to me.”
“Oh! no, no.”
“Very well, then! but listen. I like promises, I like to place under the guarantee of an oath, under the protection of Heaven, in fact, everything which interests my heart and my affections. Promise me, or rather swear to me, that if in the life we are about to commence, a life which will be full of sacrifice, mystery, anxiety, disappointment, and misunderstanding; swear to me that if we should in any way deceive, or misunderstand each other, or should judge each other unjustly, for that indeed would be criminal in love such as ours; swear to me, Louise—”
She trembled with agitation to the very depths of her heart; it was the first time she had heard her name pronounced in that manner by her royal lover. As for the king, taking off his glove, and placing his hand within the carriage, he continued:—“Swear, that never in all our quarrels will we allow one night even to pass by, if any misunderstanding should arise between us, without a visit, or at least a message, from either, in order to convey consolation and repose to the other.”
La Valliere took her lover’s burning hand between her own cool palms, and pressed it softly, until a movement of the horse, frightened by the proximity of the wheels, obliged her to abandon her happiness. She had vowed as he desired.