“You are right,” said the princes, for it was she; and she leaned against a tree. “And now,” she resumed, after having recovered her breath, “tell me the whole truth, and conceal nothing from me.” “Oh, Madame,” cried the young girl, “you are already angry with me.” “No, my dear Athenais, reassure yourself, I am in no way angry with you. After all, these things do not concern me personally. You are anxious about what you may have said under the oak; you are afraid of having offended the king, and I wish to tranquillize you by ascertaining myself if it were possible you could have been overheard.” “Oh, yes, Madame, the king was close to us.” “Still, you were not speaking so loud that some of your remarks may not have been lost.” “We thought we were quite alone, Madame.” “There were three of you, you say?” “Yes; La Vallière, Montalais, and myself.” “And _you_, individually, spoke in a light manner of the king?” “I am afraid so. Should such be the case, will your highness have the kindness to make my peace with his majesty?” “If there should be any occasion for it, I promise you I will do so. However, as I have already told you, it will be better not to anticipate evil. The night is now very dark, and the darkness is still greater under the trees. It is not likely you were recognized by the king. To inform him of it, by being the first to speak, is to denounce yourself.” “Oh, Madame, Madame! if Mademoiselle de la Vallière were recognized, I must have been recognized also. Besides, M. de Saint-Aignan left no doubt on the subject.” “Did you, then, say anything very disrespectful of the king?” “Not at all; it was one of the others who made some very flattering speeches about the king; and my remarks must have been much in contrast with hers.” “Montalais is such a giddy girl,” said Madame. “It was not Montalais. Montalais said nothing; it was La Vallière.” Madame started as if she had not known it perfectly well already. “No, no,” she said, “the king cannot have heard. Besides, we will now try the experiment for which we came out. Show me the oak. Do you know where it is?” she continued. “Alas! Madame, yes.” “And you can find it again?” “With my eyes shut.” “Very well; sit down on the bank where you were, where La Vallière was, and speak in the same tone and to the same effect as you did before; I will conceal myself in the thicket, and if I can hear you, I will tell you so.” “Yes, Madame.” “If, therefore, you really spoke loud enough for the king to have heard you, in that case--” Athenais seemed to await the conclusion of the sentence with some anxiety. “In that case,” said Madame, in a suffocated voice, arising doubtless from her hurried progress, “in that case, I forbid you--” And Madame again increased her pace. Suddenly, however, she stopped. “An idea occurs to me,” she said. “A good idea, no doubt, Madame,” replied Mademoiselle de Tonnay-Charente. “Montalais must be as much embarrassed as La Vallière and yourself.”