"No, Sire," roared Lauzun, emboldened by the King's calmness; "permit me to say I will not calm myself. I will not permit this humiliation. There is my sword," and he drew it from its scabbard; "your Majesty has made me unworthy to wear it. Take it—take my life also."
Lauzun presented his sword. The King put it from him with an imperious gesture.
"Comte de Lauzun," said he with dignity, "I refuse to accept your sword. Let it still be drawn in my service. There is much to wound you in what has passed. I feel deeply for you. But my duty as King of France compels me to act as I have done."
This was a bold assertion in the presence of Madame de Montespan, who sat motionless behind the King, her cheeks blanched at the thought of what revelations Lauzun might make in his rage.
"I will make what recompense I can to you," continued the King. "You shall be raised, Comte de Lauzun, so high that you will cease to remember this marriage you now so much desire."
"Sire, I will accept no gifts, no honours, from a monarch who has forfeited his word. Ay, Sire, I repeat it deliberately," seeing the King's glance of fury at his insolence, "forfeited his word. Here do I surrender this sword, which your Majesty conferred on me. Here do I break it, Sire, in your face as you have broken your word."
As he spoke, he bent his knee, snapped the blade in two, and violently dashed the fragments on the ground at the King's feet.
"And you, perfidious woman," he continued, addressing Madame de Montespan, "of whom I could reveal so much, whose treachery I have proved—you who sit there unmoved—behold your handiwork! Do I not know that it is you, who, for your own wicked purposes, have influenced my royal master against me!"
Lauzun spoke so rapidly that all this had been said before Louis could stop him.