The more he investigated the magnificence of Vaux, the more he believed the accusations of Colbert. Fouquet heard the praise; he did not observe the frown. He was radiant. Louis looked round, anxious to escape from the glare and the crowd. He longed to retire into some shady grove with La Vallière. She was very beautiful that evening. Louis reproached himself for ever having caused her pain. She wore a dress of white stuff, worked with golden leaves; a blue ribbon, tied in a knot in front, encircled her small waist. Her light hair, untouched by powder, and sown with flowers and pearls, fell over her shoulders; two enormous emeralds hung in her ears. Her arms were uncovered, but to conceal their thinness, she wore above the elbow a broad circlet of gold set with opals. Her gloves were of fine Brussels lace, showing the rosy skin beneath. Her graceful yet dignified manners, her tender blue eyes, breathing nothing but love and gentleness, her look of patient goodness, were never more charming than when seen among the painted and powdered belles of that intriguing Court. It was impossible for Louis to have a word with her in private. Every feminine eye was bent upon him. All the ladies—young, old, fair and dark—pressed round him as he moved among the alleys and terraces of the illuminated garden. He was the rose that attracted alike the butterflies and the grubs—the sunshine and the shadow. Like royalty of all ages, Louis soon grew weary of this espionage, and called for the Duc de Saint-Aignan. He was nowhere to be found. At last, after having walked up and down the three terraces, admired the great cascade and the grotto, afterwards to be repeated at Saint-Cloud, he sought out the Queen-mother. She was seated on the terrace, surveying the illumination at a distance. Louis leaned over the marble balustrade near her.
"This is magnificent, my mother," said he; "so magnificent that I believe every word Colbert has told me. Colbert showed me peculations on paper; I see them here with my own eyes. Think of the millions he must have spent! Look at my palace of Saint-Germain—dilapidated, dismal; Fontainebleau still unfinished. It is shameful! Fouquet is a mushroom, who has nourished himself out of my revenues. I can crush him—I will crush him—destroy him!" and the King stamped his foot savagely on a pavement of coloured marbles.
"My son, do not speak so loudly," replied the Queen.
At this moment Saint-Aignan appeared ascending the steps from below.
"Where have you been, Duke?" asked Louis sharply.
"A thousand pardons, your Majesty. They searched for me in the wrong place. You will not, however, have reason to regret my absence," and he gave the King a look full of meaning, and signed to him to move farther off from all possibility of listeners. "Sire," continued he, "I have made a discovery."
"A discovery! Where? What have you found?" and Louis drew closer to him.
"Sire, I fear you have a rival," and Saint-Aignan glanced significantly at the Duchesse de la Vallière, who sat on a settee behind, not far from the Queen-mother.
"A rival! Ridiculous! You have been asleep and dreaming, Duke."