"No, Sire; on the faith of a peer of France, no. Your Majesty has a rival, I repeat."
"What do I care for rivals! I have her heart," and Louis glanced tenderly at La Vallière.
"But is your Majesty so certain?"
"Certain? Ask me if I live!" exclaimed Louis with warmth. "But tell me what you mean. Speak, Duke, and speak quickly, for we may be interrupted."
"Well, Sire, some fairy, who I suppose watches over your interests, told me to wander over the château and examine the more private chambers. No one was by. Every one was in the garden with your Majesty to see the illuminations. At the end of a long gallery, in a distant part of the house, I came upon a boudoir—such a bijou of a room!—evidently belonging to Fouquet. On the walls hung the portraits of some of the fairest ladies of the Court. It is a hall of beauty, Sire."
"Go on," said Louis impatiently; "I understand."
"Among these beauties, Sire, was—well—there was the lady you honour with your special attentions—Madame la Duchesse—" and Saint-Aignan stopped, and again indicated La Vallière, who, unconscious of what was going on, sat near, her delicate cheek resting on her hand.
"You need mention no names, Saint-Aignan. I tell you, I understand," replied the King with evident irritation. "And pray what does it matter if you did find the portrait of that lady there? I see nothing in it at all remarkable. No hall of beauty would be complete without her likeness. Who were the other portraits?"