The King, nowise behind his courtiers in gallantry, at once offers his escort and his arm to support La Vallière, who, naturally timid, is really frightened, and clings to him with a helplessness that enchants him. All the world knows she is a little lame, a defect which was said in her to be almost a grace. Now she does not perhaps regret that this infirmity prevents her running as quickly as the rest, and thus prolonging the precious moments passed alone with the King. Louis places her under a tree, where they are both protected from the rain and are shrouded by the thick boughs which hang low and fringe the grass. The King seizes on this happy opportunity to declare his passion, and to whisper to La Vallière the love she has inspired ever since that evening, when he had overheard her. Poor Louise! She had never dared to imagine that her love was returned, and she well-nigh faints as the King proceeds. Her heart beats so violently it is almost audible. She is actually on the point of rushing from under the tree, when the King lays hold of her hand, and retains her. "What!" cries he, "do you fear me more than the storm? What have I done to frighten you? you whom I love, whom I adore! Why do you hate me? Speak, I implore you, Louise." "Oh, Sire! do not say hate. I revere you—I love you—as my King, but——" "Sweet girl, I breathe again. But why only love me as your Sovereign—I, who cherish your every look, who seek only to be your servant—your slave?" Saying this, Louis falls on his knees upon the grass; he seizes her hands, which he covers with kisses; he swears he will never rise until she has promised to love him, and to pardon the terror his declaration has caused her. Mademoiselle de la Vallière cannot control her emotion. She implores him to rise. "You are my King," she says, "the husband of the Queen. My royal master, I am your faithful subject. Can I say more?" "Yes, dearest, promise me your love. Give me your heart; that is the possession I desire," murmurs Louis.