"Oh, aunt!" replied the king with a look of doubt.

"Come here, Louise," said Madame.

And the fair girl, already known to you under that name,
approached them, timid, blushing, and almost bent beneath
the royal glance.

"Mademoiselle Louise Francoise de la Baume le Blanc, the
daughter of the Marquise de la Valliere," said Madame,
ceremoniously.

The young girl bowed with so much grace, mingled with the
profound timidity inspired by the presence of the king, that
the latter lost, while looking at her, a few words of the
conversation of Monsieur and the cardinal.

"Daughter-in-law," continued Madame, "of M. de Saint-Remy,
my maitre d'hotel, who presided over the confection of that
excellent daube truffee which your majesty seemed so much to
appreciate."

No grace, no youth, no beauty, could stand out against such
a presentation. The king smiled. Whether the words of Madame
were a pleasantry, or uttered in all innocency, they proved
the pitiless immolation of everything that Louis had found
charming or poetic in the young girl. Mademoiselle de la
Valliere, for Madame and, by rebound, for the king, was, for
a moment, no more than the daughter of a man of a superior