oached nearer to her, "I think the storm has passed away now, and
the rain has ceased." At the very moment, however, as the poor girl,
fleeing as it were from her own heart, which doubtless throbbed but too
well in unison with the king's, uttered these words, the storm undertook
to contradict her. A dead-white flash of lightning illumined the
forest with a weird glare, and a peal of thunder, like a discharge of
artillery, burst over their heads, as if the height of the oak that
sheltered them had attracted the storm. The young girl could not repress
a cry of terror. The king with one hand drew her towards his heart, and
stretched the other above her head, as though to shield her from the
lightning. A moment's silence ensued, as the group, delightful as
everything young and loving is delightful, remained motionless, while
Fouquet and Aramis contemplated it in attitudes as motionless as La
Valliere and the king. "Oh, sire!" murmured La Valliere, "do you hear?"
and her head fell upon his shoulder.

"Yes," said the king. "You see, the storm has not passed away."

"_It is a warning, sire_." The king smiled. "Sire, it is the voice of
Heaven in anger."

"Be it so," said the king. "I agree to accept that peal of thunder as
a warning, and even as a menace, if, in five minutes from the present
moment, it is renewed with equal violence; but if not, permit me to
think that the storm is a storm simply, and nothing more." And the king,
at the same moment, raised his head, as if to interrogate the heavens.
But, as if the remark had been heard and accepted, during the five
minutes which elapsed after the burst of thunder which had alarmed them,
no renewed peal was heard; and, when the thunder was again heard, it was
passing as plainly as if, during those same five minutes, the storm, put
to flight, had traversed the heavens with the wings of the wind. "Well,
Louise," said the king, in a low tone of voice, "do you still threaten
me with the anger of Heaven? and, since you wished to regard the storm
as a warning, do you still believe it bodes misfortune?"

The young girl looked up, and saw that while they had been talking, the
rain had penetrated the foliage above them, and was trickling down
the king's face. "Oh, sire, sire!" she exclaimed, in accents of eager
apprehensions, which greatly agitated the king. "Is it for me," she
murmured, "that the king remains thus uncovered, and exposed to the
rain? What am I, then?"

"You are, you