r, for the poor girl only knew M. Fouquet by name,
and could not conceive what she could possibly have to do with a
surintendant of finances. However, as he might possibly come from the
king--and, after the conversation we have recorded, it was very
likely--she glanced at her mirror, drew out still more the long ringlets
of her hair, and desired him to be admitted. La Valliere could not,
however, refrain from a certain feeling of uneasiness. A visit from the
surintendant was not an ordinary event in the life of any woman attached
to the court. Fouquet, so notorious for his generosity, his gallantry,
and his sensitive delicacy of feeling with regard to women generally,
had received more invitations than he had requested audiences. In many
houses the presence of the surintendant had been significant of fortune;
in many hearts, of love. Fouquet entered the apartment with a manner
full of respect, presenting himself with that ease and gracefulness of
manner which was the distinctive characteristic of the men of eminence
of that period, and which at the present day seems no longer to be
understood, even in the portraits of the period in which the painter
has endeavored to recall them into being. La Valliere acknowledged the
ceremonious salutation which Fouquet addressed to her by a gentle
inclination of the head and motioned him to a seat. But Fouquet, with a
bow, said, "I will not sit down until you have pardoned me."

"I?" asked La Valliere; "pardoned what?"

Fouquet fixed a most piercing look upon the young girl, and fancied he
could perceive in her face nothing but the most unaffected surprise. "I
observe," he said, "that you have as much generosity as intelligence,
and I read in your eyes the forgiveness I solicit. A pardon pronounced
by your lips is insufficient for me, and I need the forgiveness of your
heart and mind."

"Upon my honor, monsieur," said La Valliere, "I assure you most
positively I do not understand your meaning."

"Again, that is a delicacy on your part which charms me," replied
Fouquet, "and I see you do not wish me to blush before you."

"Blush! blush before me? Why should you blush?"

"Can I have deceived myself?" said Fouquet; "and can I have been happy
enough not to have offended you by my conduct toward you?"

"Really, monsieur," said La Valliere, shrugging her shoulders, "you
speak in enigmas, and I suppose I am too ignorant to understand you."

"Be it so," said Fouquet, "I will not insi