s--"

"Ah!" said the king, in a tender voice, which was gradually lowered in
its tone, "to perceive is not to see, and yet it seems that it would be
quite sufficient for you."

Louise did not answer a syllable; a sigh filled her heart almost to
bursting, but she stifled it.

"You exercise a great control over yourself," said the king to Louise,
who smiled upon him with a melancholy expression. "Exert the strength
you have in loving fondly," he continued, "and I will bless Heaven for
having bestowed it on you."

La Valliere still remained silent, but raised her eyes, brimful of
affection, toward the king. Louis, as if he had been overcome by this
burning glance, passed his hand across his forehead, and pressing the
sides of his horse with his knees, made him bound several paces forward.
La Valliere, leaning back in her carriage, with her eyes half closed,
gazed fixedly upon the king, whose plumes were floating in the air; she
could not but admire his graceful carriage, his delicate and nervous
limbs, which pressed his horse's side, and the regular outline of his
features, which his beautiful curling hair set off to great advantage,
revealing occasionally his small and well-formed ear. In fact the poor
girl was in love, and she reveled in her innocent affection. In a few
moments the king was again by her side.

"Do you not perceive," he said, "how terribly your silence affects me?
Oh! mademoiselle, how pitilessly immovable you would become if you were
ever to resolve to break off all acquaintance with any one; and then too
I think you changeable; in fact--in fact, I dread this deep affection
which fills my whole being."

"Oh! sire, you are mistaken," said La Valliere; "if ever I love, it will
be for my whole life."

"If you love, you say," exclaimed the king; "you do not love now, then."
She hid her face in her hands.

"You see," said the king, "that I am right in accusing you; you must
admit that you are changeable, capricious, a coquette, perhaps."

"Oh, no! sire, be perfectly satisfied on that. No, I say again; no, no!"

"Promise me, then, that for me you will always be the same."

"Oh! always, sire."

"That you will never show any of that severity which would break my
heart, none of that fickleness of manner which would be worse than death
to me."

"Oh! no, no."

"Very well, then! but listen. I like promises, I like to place under the
guarantee of an oath, under the protection of Heaven in fact, ever