La Vallière lived a life of extreme retirement. She rarely appeared at Court, except upon occasions of state, and received only such visits as etiquette rendered necessary. Save the King, her confessor, and a few intimate friends, she avoided every one. The splendour of the retreat assigned her by the King pained and humiliated her. She was but too conscious that in permitting herself to be dowered and ennobled by him, she was exposing herself to the charge of ambition, arrogance, and avarice—she, who only loved the man, and who shrank abashed from the sovereign!
The very letters-patent by which Louis created her Duchesse de la Vallière infinitely wounded her. It was intolerable to her to be publicly addressed as "his singularly and entirely beloved Louise Françoise de la Vallière, possessed of his Majesty's special and particular affection." Vainly had she endeavoured to combat his resolution thus to distinguish her; vainly had she entreated him to allow her to sink into oblivion, forgotten by all save himself. Louis had declared, and with truth, that after her flight to Chaillot and her return to Saint-Germain, all mystery was impossible. He could not bear, he told her, to see her continually suffering affronts and mortifications in his own Court, to which her sensitive nature specially exposed her, and from which even he could not screen her.
Vainly did he invoke all his authority as a sovereign, all his devotion as a man, to raise the object of his love beyond the reach of calumny. Vainly did he surround her with all that the luxury of kings, the treasures of the state, and the refinements of love could devise to reconcile her to her position. He could not stifle her conscience. Louise could not bring herself to leave him, but she sank under the consciousness of her sin.
When, by a formal declaration of the parliament, her children were legitimatised and created princes of the blood royal, she was in absolute despair. Again she conjured the King never more to let her name be heard. But, selfish even to her, Louis commanded that she should appear in the Queen's circle, and receive the congratulations of the Court. A prey to anxiety and remorse, silent, yearning, solitary, her health gave way. Her lovely figure lost its roundness, her violet eyes their lustre. She grew dull, oppressed, and tearful, and her lameness increased.
The Comtesse du Roule, formerly maid of honour to Madame Henriette d'Orléans at the same time as La Vallière, was one of the few friends she still received.
They had not met for some time when Madame du Roule called on her. Madame du Roule found Louise seated alone in a pavilion overlooking the palace of Versailles. She was so lost in thought she did not hear her friend's footsteps. When she rose to receive her she looked more delicate and dejected than usual.
"Dear Louise," said the Comtesse after having saluted her, "how I grieve to see you so unhappy. Can nothing be done to console you? Remember you are ruining your looks. Do you imagine that his Majesty will care for you when you have made yourself wrinkled and ugly?"
"Alas, Celestine, I cannot help it! I ought not to be here", and Louise kissed her tenderly, and placed her on a seat beside her. "This magnificent hotel, those royal servants, my luxurious life—daily remind me of my degradation. While I was unknown and poor, lost among the crowd of a great Court, I was my own mistress. My heart was my own to bestow. Now," and she placed her hand on her heart as if she suffered "a price seems put upon me. I cannot bear it! Ah, why did I leave Chaillot?" and her head, covered with light baby curls, sank upon her bosom; and she heaved a deep sigh.
"But, Louise, if you love the King," said the Comtesse, laying her hand gently on that of La Vallière, "you must accept the inevitable position, else some one less scrupulous and more mercenary than yourself will certainly take it."
"Ah, Celestine, that fear is ever present to me. It is agony to me; it keeps me here. Do not imagine that I misunderstand my position. I suffer because it is too painfully evident. Yet I love the King too much to resign him. Love! ah, more—I worship him!" and she raised her head, and an inner light shone from her soft grey eyes, that made them glow with passion. "Is he not my master—my sovereign!" she continued; "am I not bound to obey him? Could I exist without him? Who else but Louis could have brought me back from Chaillot? Who else could have torn me from the altar to which my heart still clings? Celestine, I know I shall return to that convent."—The Comtesse smiled incredulously.—"But," continued La Vallière, "when I see my faded face in the glass, and I know I am faded and changed,"—Madame du Roule shook her head deprecatingly—"I tremble—oh, I tremble lest I should lose him! I know I ought to rejoice at his loss," added she in a broken voice; "yet I cannot—I cannot!" and the tears streamed from her eyes, and she covered her face with her hands.