Pressed by the King to grant him some mark of her favour, La Vallière becomes so confused she cannot reply. Louis grows more and more pressing, interpreting her emotion as favourable to his suit. In the midst of the tenderest entreaties the thunder again bursts forth, and poor Louise, overcome at once by fear, love, and remorse, swoons away. The King naturally receives the precious burden in his arms. He seeks hastily to rejoin the other fugitives and his attendants, in order to obtain assistance. Ever and anon he stops in the openings of the forest to gaze at her, as she lies calm and lovely in repose, her long eye-lashes sweeping her delicate cheeks, her half-closed lips revealing the prettiest and whitest teeth. I leave my readers to imagine if Louis did not imprint a few kisses on the fainting beauty he bears so carefully in his arms, and if now and then he did not press her closer to his breast. If in this he _did_ take advantage of the situation chance had afforded him, he must be forgiven; he was young, and he was deeply in love. Words cannot describe the surprise felt by La Vallière on recovering to find herself alone, borne along in the King's arms, in the midst of a lonely forest. History does not, however, record that she died of terror, or that she even screamed. The respectful behaviour of the King doubtless reassured her. The moment she opens her sweet blue eyes he stops, places her on the ground, and supports her. He assures her that being then near the edge of the forest, and not far distant from the château, they are sure to meet some of his attendants. Louise blushes, then grows pale, then blushes again, as the recollection of all the King had said to her while under the shade of the greenwood gradually returns to her remembrance. She reads the confirmation of it in his eyes. Those eyes are fixed on her with passionate ardour. Disengaging herself from his arms, she thanks him, in a faltering voice, for his care a thousand times—for his condescension. She is so sorry. It was so foolish to faint; but the thunder—his Majesty's goodness to her—— Here she pauses abruptly; her conscience tells her she ought at once to reject his suit; her lips cannot form the words. While she is speaking, a group of horsemen are visible in the distance, at the end of one of those long woodland glades which divide the forest. On hearing the voice of the King, who calls to them, they gallop rapidly towards him. The King and La Vallière reach the château shortly after the other ladies, none of whom, as it appeared, had been in haste to return.