Louise de la Valliere by Alexandre Dumas (best sales books of all time TXT) 📗
- Author: Alexandre Dumas
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“Presently,” said Porthos, phlegmatically; “I shall come to that by and by.”
In fact it was not long before it came to the boar’s turn, for the king seemed to take pleasure in urging on his guest; he did not pass any of the dishes to Porthos until he had tasted them himself, and he accordingly took some of the boar’s head. Porthos showed that he could keep pace with his sovereign; and, instead of eating the half, as D’Artagnan had told him, he ate three-fourths of it. “It is impossible,” said the king in an undertone, “that a gentleman who eats so good a supper every day, and who has such beautiful teeth, can be otherwise than the most straightforward, upright man in my kingdom.”
“Do you hear?” said D’Artagnan in his friend’s ear.
“Yes; I think I am rather in favor,” said Porthos, balancing himself on his chair.
“Oh! you are in luck’s way.”
The king and Porthos continued to eat in the same manner, to the great satisfaction of the other guests, some of whom, from emulation, had attempted to follow them, but were obliged to give up half-way. The king soon began to get flushed and the reaction of the blood to his face announced that the moment of repletion had arrived. It was then that Louis XIV., instead of becoming gay and cheerful, as most good livers generally do, became dull, melancholy, and taciturn. Porthos, on the contrary, was lively and communicative. D’Artagnan’s foot had more than once to remind him of this peculiarity of the king. The dessert now made its appearance. The king had ceased to think anything further of Porthos; he turned his eyes anxiously towards the entrance-door, and he was heard occasionally to inquire how it happened that Monsieur de Saint-Aignan was so long in arriving. At last, at the moment when his majesty was finishing a pot of preserved plums with a deep sigh, Saint-Aignan appeared. The king’s eyes, which had become somewhat dull, immediately began to sparkle. The comte advanced towards the king’s table, and Louis rose at his approach. Everybody got up at the same time, including Porthos, who was just finishing an almond-cake capable of making the jaws of a crocodile stick together. The supper was over.
Chapter XV. After Supper.
The king took Saint-Aignan by the arm, and passed into the adjoining apartment. “What has detained you, comte?” said the king.
“I was bringing the answer, sire,” replied the comte.
“She has taken a long time to reply to what I wrote her.”
“Sire, your majesty deigned to write in verse, and Mademoiselle de la Valliere wished to repay your majesty in the same coin; that is to say, in gold.”
“Verses! Saint-Aignan,” exclaimed the king in ecstasy. “Give them to me at once.” And Louis broke the seal of a little letter, inclosing the verses which history has preserved entire for us, and which are more meritorious in invention than in execution. Such as they were, however, the king was enchanted with them, and exhibited his satisfaction by unequivocal transports of delight; but the universal silence which reigned in the rooms warned Louis, so sensitively particular with regard to good breeding, that his delight must give rise to various interpretations. He turned aside and put the note in his pocket, and then advancing a few steps, which brought him again to the threshold of the door close to his guests, he said, “M. du Vallon, I have seen you to-day with the greatest pleasure, and my pleasure will be equally great to see you again.” Porthos bowed as the Colossus of Rhodes would have done, and retired from the room with his face towards the king. “M. d’Artagnan,” continued the king, “you will await my orders in the gallery; I am obliged to you for having made me acquainted with M. du Vallon. Gentlemen,” addressing himself to the other guests, “I return to Paris to-morrow on account of the departure of the Spanish and Dutch ambassadors. Until to-morrow then.”
The apartment was immediately cleared of the guests. The king took Saint-Aignan by the arm, made him read La Valliere’s verses over again, and said, “What do you think of them?”
“Charming, sire.”
“They charm me, in fact, and if they were known—”
“Oh! the professional poets would be jealous of them; but it is not likely they will know anything about them.”
“Did you give her mine?”
“Oh! sire, she positively devoured them.”
“They were very weak, I am afraid.”
“That is not what Mademoiselle de la Valliere said of them.”
“Do you think she was pleased with them?”
“I am sure of it, sire.”
“I must answer, then.”
“Oh! sire, immediately after supper? Your majesty will fatigue yourself.”
“You are quite right; study after eating is notoriously injurious.”
“The labor of a poet especially so; and besides, there is great excitement prevailing at Mademoiselle de la Valliere’s.”
“What do you mean?”
“With her as with all the ladies of the court.”
“Why?”
“On account of poor De Guiche’s accident.”
“Has anything serious happened to De Guiche, then?”
“Yes, sire, he has one hand nearly destroyed, a hole in his breast; in fact, he is dying.”
“Good heavens! who told you that?”
“Manicamp brought him back just now to the house of a doctor here in Fontainebleau, and the rumor soon reached us all.”
“Brought back! Poor De Guiche; and how did it happen?”
“Ah! that is the very question,—how did it happen?”
“You say that in a very singular manner, Saint-Aignan. Give me the details. What does he say himself?”
“He says nothing, sire; but others do.”
“What others?”
“Those who brought him back, sire.”
“Who are they?”
“I do not know, sire; but M. de Manicamp knows. M. de Manicamp is one of his friends.”
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