ed, and resumed their walk. In this manner they
reached the royal oak, the venerable relic of a tree which in its
prime has listened to the sighs of Henry II. for the beautiful Diana of
Poitiers, and later still to those of Henry IV. for the lovely Gabrielle
d'Estrees. Beneath this oak the gardeners had piled up the moss and
turf in such a manner that never had a seat more luxuriously rested the
wearied limbs of man or monarch. The trunk, somewhat rough to recline
against, was sufficiently large to accommodate the three young girls,
whose voices were lost among the branches, which stretched upwards to
the sky.

Chapter XLI. What Was Said under the Royal Oak.

The softness of the air, the stillness of the foliage, tacitly imposed
upon these young girls an engagement to change immediately their giddy
conversation for one of a more serious character. She, indeed, whose
disposition was the most lively,--Montalais, for instance,--was the
first to yield to the influence; and she began by heaving a deep sigh,
and saying:--"What happiness to be here alone, and at liberty, with
every right to be frank, especially towards one another."

"Yes," said Mademoiselle de Tonnay-Charente; "for the court, however
brilliant it may be, has always some falsehood concealed beneath the
folds of its velvet robes, or the glitter of its diamonds."

"I," replied La Valliere, "I never tell a falsehood; when I cannot speak
the truth, I remain silent."

"You will not long remain in favor," said Montalais; "it is not here
as it was at Blois, where we told the dowager Madame all our little
annoyances, and all our longings. There were certain days when Madame
remembered that she herself had been young, and, on those days, whoever
talked with her found in her a sincere friend. She related to us her
flirtations with Monsieur, and we told her of the flirtations she
had had with others, or, at least, the rumors of them that had spread
abroad. Poor woman, so simple-minded! she laughed at them, as we did.
Where is she now?"

"Ah, Montalais,--laughter-loving Montalais!" cried La Valliere; "you
see you are sighing again; the woods inspire you, and you are almost
reasonable this evening."

"You ought not, either of you," said Athenais, "to regret the court at
Blois so much, unless you do not feel happy with us. A court is a place
where men and women resort to talk of matters which mothers, guardians,
and especially confessors, severely denounce."