Now it happened that the queen fell ill and died. The Princess Gracieuse felt as if she should die also of grief for the loss of so good a mother, and the king deeply regretted his excellent wife. For nearly a twelvemonth he remained shut up in his palace, till at length the physicians, alarmed at the consequence to his health, insisted on his going out and amusing himself.
One day he went hunting, and the heat being very great, he entered a large chateau that he saw near him, for shelter and refreshment. As soon as the Duchess Grognon (for it was her chateau) heard of the king's arrival, she hastened to receive him, and informed him that the coolest place in the mansion was a large vaulted cellar, exceedingly clean, into which she requested he would descend. The king followed her, and entering the cellar he saw two hundred barrels placed in rows one above the other. He asked her whether it was only for herself she kept such a stock. "Yes, Sire," she replied, "for myself alone: but I shall be delighted if your majesty will do me the honour to taste my wines. Here is Canary, Saint Laurent, Champagne, Hermitage, Pivesalte, Rossolis, Persicot, Fenouillet;[1] which do you prefer, Sire?" "Frankly," said the king, "I hold that champagne is worth all the other wines put together." Grognon immediately took a small hammer, struck a cask two or three times, "tap," "tap," and out came a million of pistoles. "What does this mean?" she exclaimed with a smile, and passing to the next cask she hit that, "tap" "tap," and out rolled a bushel of double Louis-d'ors. "I don't understand this at all," she said, smiling still more significantly. On she went to another barrel and rapped "tap" "tap," and out ran so many pearls and diamonds that the floor of the cellar was covered with them. "Ah!" she cried, "I can't comprehend this, Sire. Somebody must have stolen my good wine and put in its place these trifles." "Trifles!" echoed the king, perfectly astonished; "do you call these trifles, Madam? There is treasure enough
- ↑ Saint Laurent is a wine of Provence, celebrated by Madame de Sevigne, in her letters. Rivesalte, a muscat wine, grown in the vicinity of a small town of that name in Roussillon. Rossolis was a liqueur so called from the plant, Ros Solis, or rosée du soleil (sun dew). It was so great a favourite with Louis XIV. that a particular sort was called Rossolis du Roi. Persicot and Fenouille, were also liqueurs. The first a sort of noyau, and the other brandy flavoured with fennel; the principal manufactory for which was in the Isle de Rhé.
