A Plague of Lies by Judith Rock

made it clear that there would be no discussion of that interesting question. “Now,” he went on, “know that Louis misses nothing that happens around him. He sees and he remembers. His public presence is even-tempered and courteous almost to a fault.” La Chaise shrugged and lifted open palms. “The man raises his hat to kitchen maids. Any failure of courtesy infuriates him, and so does any breach of ceremony. No, no,
mon père
,” he added quickly as Jouvancy opened his mouth to protest. “I am not in the least implying that you might be discourteous, I am only trying to give you some understanding of the king. Because unless you somewhat understand him, you will not understand our Madame de Maintenon, and it is she whose heart you must touch tomorrow.”
    “It’s said she doesn’t have one,” Charles murmured, mostly to see if he could provoke a little useful indiscretion and a little more information.
    Jouvancy frowned, and La Chaise eyed Charles in surprise. Less, Charles thought, because of what he’d said than because a mere scholastic had ventured to say it.
    “Many things are said about those who live here,” La Chaise retorted. “As you obviously know.” Charles bowed his head slightly to the riposte, which La Chaise softened by saying, with laughter in his voice, “Many things are said about
me
by many people, including Madame de Maintenon. As I am also sure you know. Even though I spend less time here at court than at our Professed House in Paris.” His face sobered. “Madame de Maintenon has not only a measure of wit but also an essentially kind heart, I assure you. But she gives her heart very rarely. So far as I know, she has given it only twice: to the king and to his eldest son by Madame de Montespan, our young Duc du Maine. She was governess, you know, to him and some of his brothers and sisters. She loves all those children, the more because she feels their mother has virtually ignored them. But Maine has a lame leg and is her favorite. She did everything that could be done for him, though little helped his lameness. He is her heart’s darling.”
    Jouvancy was watching him curiously. “As I listen to you speak of her,
mon père
, I could almost believe that you do not dislike the woman.”
    La Chaise’s eyebrows rose. “Dislike her? I don’t know that I do dislike her. She is without pretense my enemy. But I often have the feeling that if we had been thrown together under different circumstances, we might have been friends.”
    Fascinated, Charles ventured, “Why do you think so?”
    “There’s much about her I respect. Her piety. Her austerity of mind. She has no use at all for self-indulgence. Or for false or easy answers. Or for impiety—under the Caesars, she would probably have ended in the arena.”
    Jouvancy laughed. “One might feel sorry for the lions.”
    “One might, indeed.” La Chaise shrugged and held out hishands. “But things are as they are, and we are not friends. She is an idealist. I am a realist. She loathes my realistic lenience with my royal penitent. But a king, especially this king, can only be guided by a loose rein. I choose to think that better than no guidance at all.”
    Jouvancy and Charles nodded somber agreement with that. They all sat without speaking—busy, it seemed to Charles, with thoughts loosed by what La Chaise had said. The light was fading, and Charles saw that it was raining in earnest now. Out in the gallery, the clattering noise of heels echoed on the marble floor, and Charles found himself wondering how late it would go on. Louis le Grand was a noisy enough place during the day, but quiet was the rule at night.
    La Chaise sighed. “What I fear most just now is the king’s lust for war. Which is coming—and not altogether at his behest this time. Now that the Turks have been beaten back in the east, the Protestant countries of the League of Augsburg—the Holy Roman Emperor and the Germanic states, Sweden, and Spain—have