"But, Sire, Madame de Montespan?"
Louis became crimson; a momentary frown knit his dark eyebrows.
"I desire you to receive her as heretofore," he replied hurriedly. "Louise, it is a sacrifice you must make for my sake. You will not refuse. It will endear you to me more than ever."
As he spoke he looked at her tenderly.
"Sire, I cannot," she replied firmly, casting her eyes on the ground.
"How! You dare to refuse me? Louise, I command you." The King drew himself up; he laid his hand heavily on her shoulder. Then, seeing how wasted and frail she was, and how her slight form quivered under his touch, he added in a softened tone, "Louise, I entreat you."
A deep blush suffused her cheeks. Some moments passed before she could command her voice. "Sire," she replied at last, and her white lips trembled, "Sire, I can never again live the old life,—but I will obey you."
The King was about to rush forward to embrace her. She stopped him by a gesture gentle yet determined. He fell back.
"Sire, you love another. Hitherto I have quieted my conscience by the conviction that I was needful to you. Now I know it is not so. Take back these tablets, Sire. Can you deny these verses, written by your own hand but a few days since?"
Louis stood before her, silenced, confounded. Her composure astonished him. Before him was La Vallière—hitherto his slave, now so determined! Her hand rested on a table for support. She was deadly pale, and carefully avoided his gaze. He was deeply moved.