“Ah, if M. Montespan were here!” said Montalais. “Do you think that I care for M. de Montespan?” murmured the beautiful young girl. “He is handsome, I believe?” “Yes. And that is no small advantage in my eyes.” “There now, you see--” “I will go further, and say, that of all the men whom one sees here, he is the handsomest, and the most--” “What was that?” said La Vallière, starting suddenly from the mossy bank. “A deer hurrying by, perhaps.” “I am only afraid of men,” said Athenais. “When they do not resemble M. de Montespan.” “A truce to raillery. M. de Montespan is attentive to me, but that does not commit me in any way. Is not M. de Guiche here, he who is so devoted to Madame?” “Poor fellow!” said La Vallière. “Why to be pitied? Madame is sufficiently beautiful, and of high enough rank, I suppose.” La Vallière shook her head sorrowfully, saying, “When one loves, it is neither beauty nor rank;--when one loves it should be the heart, or the eyes only, of him, or of her whom one loves.” Montalais began to laugh loudly. “Heart, eyes,” she said; “oh, sugar-plums!” “I speak for myself;” replied La Vallière. “Noble sentiments,” said Athenais, with an air of protection, but with indifference. “Are they not your own?” asked Louise. “Perfectly so; but to continue: how can one pity a man who bestows his attentions upon such a woman as Madame? If any disproportion exists, it is on the count’s side.” “Oh! no, no,” returned La Vallière; “it is on Madame’s side.” “Explain yourself.” “I will. Madame has not even a wish to know what love is. She diverts herself with the feeling, as children do with fireworks, form which a spark might set a palace on fire. It makes a display, and that is all she cares about. Besides, pleasure forms the tissue of which she wishes her life to be woven. M. de Guiche loves this illustrious personage, but she will never love him.” Athenais laughed disdainfully. “Do people really ever love?” she said. “Where are the noble sentiments you just now uttered? Does not a woman’s virtue consist in the uncompromising refusal of every intrigue that might compromise her? A properly regulated woman, endowed with a natural heart, ought to look at men, make herself loved--adored, even, by them, and say at the very utmost but once in her life, ‘I begin to think that I ought not to have been what I am,--I should have detested this one less than others.’” “Therefore,” exclaimed La Vallière, “that is what M. de Montespan has to expect.” “Certainly; he, as well as every one else. What! have I not said that I admit he possesses a certain superiority, and would not that be enough? My dear child, a woman is a queen during the entire period nature permits her to enjoy sovereign power--from fifteen to thirty-five years of age. After that, we are free to have a heart, when we only have that left--” “Oh, oh!” murmured La Vallière.