“For the last time, mademoiselle,” he said, “will you speak? Will you assign a reason for this change, this fickleness, for this caprice?”
“What can I say?” murmured La Valliere. “Do you not see, sire, that I am completely overwhelmed at this moment; that I have no power of will, or thought, or speech?”
“Is it so difficult, then, to speak the truth? You could have told me the whole truth in fewer words than those in which you have expressed yourself.”
“But the truth about what, sire?”
“About everything.”
La Valliere was just on the point of revealing the truth to the king, her arms made a sudden movement as if they were about to open, but her lips remained silent, and her hands again fell listlessly by her side. The poor girl had not yet endured sufficient unhappiness to risk the necessary revelation. “I know nothing,” she stammered out.
“Oh!” exclaimed the king, “this is no longer mere coquetry, or caprice, it is treason.”
And this time nothing could restrain him. The impulse of his heart was not sufficient to induce him to turn back, and he darted out of the room with a gesture full of despair. Saint-Aignan followed him, wishing for nothing better than to quit the place.
Louis XIV. did not pause until he reached the staircase, and grasping the balustrade, said: “You see how shamefully I have been duped.”
“How, sire?” inquired the favorite.