“Oh, wait, sire, that is not all yet; for such conversations ought, at least, to have a reasonable motive of some kind for M. de Saint-Aignan.”
“Dear Louise, every shade of delicacy of feeling is yours, and my only study is to equal you on that point. It shall be just as you wish: therefore our conversations shall have a reasonable motive, and I have already hit upon one; so that from to-morrow, if you like—”
“To-morrow?”
“Do you meant that that is not soon enough?” exclaimed the king, caressing La Valliere’s hand between his own.
At this moment the sound of steps was heard in the corridor.
“Sire! sire!” cried La Valliere, “some one is coming; do you hear? Oh, fly! fly! I implore you.”
The king made but one bound from the chair where he was sitting to his hiding-place behind the screen. He had barely time; for as he drew one of the folds before him, the handle of the door was turned, and Montalais appeared at the threshold. As a matter of course she entered quite naturally, and without any ceremony, for she knew perfectly well that to knock at the door beforehand would be showing a suspicion towards La Valliere which would be displeasing to her. She accordingly entered, and after a rapid glance round the room, in the brief course of which she observed two chairs very close to each other, she was so long in shutting the door, which seemed to be difficult to close, one can hardly tell how or why, that the king had ample time to raise the trap-door, and to descend again to Saint-Aignan’s room.
“Louise,” she said to her, “I want to talk to you, and seriously, too.”
“Good heavens! my dear Aure, what is the matter now?”
“The matter is, that Madame suspects everything.”