The Portrait.
In that malady which is termed love the paroxysms succeed each other at
intervals, ever accelerating from the moment the disease declares itself. By and
by, the paroxysms are less frequent, in proportion as the cure approaches. This
being laid down as a general axiom, and as the leading article of a particular
chapter, we will now proceed with our recital. The next day, the day fixed by the
king for the first conversation in Saint-Aignan's room, La Valliere, on opening one
of the folds of the screen, found upon the floor a letter in the king's handwriting.
The letter had been passed, through a slit in the floor, from the lower apartment
to her own. No indiscreet hand or curious gaze could have brought or did bring
this single paper. This, too, was one of Malicorne's ideas. Having seen how very
serviceable Saint-Aignan would become to the king on account of his apartment,
he did not wish that the courtier should become still more indispensable as a
messenger, and so he had, on his own private account, reserved this last post for
himself. La Valliere most eagerly read the letter, which fixed two o'clock that
same afternoon for the rendezvous, and which indicated the way of raising the
trap-door which was constructed out of the flooring. "Make yourself look as
beautiful as you can," added the postscript of the letter, words which astonished
the young girl, but at the same time reassured her.
The hours passed away very slowly, but the time fixed, however, arrived at last.
As punctual as the priestess Hero, Louise lifted up the trap- door at the last
stroke of the hour of two, and found the king on the steps, waiting for her with the
greatest respect, in order to give her his hand to descend. The delicacy and
deference shown in this attention affected her very powerfully. At the foot of the
staircase the two lovers found the comte, who, with a smile and a low reverence
distinguished by the best taste, expressed his thanks to La Valliere for the honor
she conferred upon him. Then turning towards the king, he said:
"Sire, our man is here." La Valliere looked at the king with some uneasiness.
"Mademoiselle," said the king, "if I have begged you to do me the honor of
coming down here, it was from an interested motive. I have procured a most
admirable portrait painter, who is celebrated for the fidelity of his likenesses, and
I wish you to be kind enough to authorize him to paint yours. Besides, if you
positively wish it, the portrait shall remain in your own possession." La Valliere
blushed. "You see," said the king to her, "we shall not be three as you wished,
but four instead. And, so long as we are not alone, there can be as many present
as you please." La Valliere gently pressed her royal lover's hand.
"Shall we pass into the next room, sire?" said Saint-Aignan, opening the door to
let his guests precede him. The king walked behind La Valliere, and fixed his
eyes lingeringly and passionately upon that neck as white as snow, upon which
her long fair ringlets fell in heavy masses. La Valliere was dressed in a thick silk
robe of pearl gray color, with a tinge of rose, with jet ornaments, which displayed
to greater effect the dazzling purity of her skin, holding in her slender and
transparent hands a bouquet of heartsease, Bengal roses, and clematis,
