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 talent over _dindes truffees_.

But princes are thus constituted. The gods, too, were just like this in
Olympus. Diana and Venus, no doubt, abused the beautiful Alcmena and
poor Io, when they condescended for distraction's sake, to speak, amidst
nectar and ambrosia, of mortal beauties, at the table of Jupiter.

Fortunately, Louise was so bent in her reverential salute, that she did
not catch either Madame's words or the king's smile. In fact, if the
poor child, who had so much good taste as alone to have chosen to dress
herself in white amidst all her companions - if that dove's heart, so
easily accessible to painful emotions, had been touched by the cruel
words of Madame, or the egotistical cold smile of the king, it would
have annihilated her.