Near the songster, in the dark background of the large trees, could be seen the glistening eyes of an owl, attracted by the harmony. In this way the fête, for the whole court was a fête also for the mysterious inhabitants of the forest; for certainly the deer from the brake, the pheasant on the branch, the fox in its hole, were all listening. One could realize the life led by this nocturnal and invisible population from the restless movements which suddenly took place among the leaves. Our sylvan nymphs uttered a slight cry, but, reassured immediately afterward, they laughed, and resumed their walk. In this manner they reached the royal oak, the venerable relic of an oak which in its earlier days bad listened to the sighs of Henry II. for the beautiful Diana of Poictiers, and later still, to those of Henry IV. for the lovely Gabrielle d'Estrées. Beneath this oak the gardeners had piled up the moss and turf in such a manner that never had a seat more luxuriously reposed the wearied limbs of any monarch. The trunk of the tree, somewhat rough to recline against, was sufficiently large to accommodate the three young girls, whose voices were lost among the branches, which stretched downward toward the trunk.
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 its 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 toward each other."
"Yes," said Mlle. de Tonnay-Charente; "for the court, however brilliant it may be, has always some falsehood concealed beneath the folds of its velvet robes, or beneath the blaze of its diamonds."
"I," replied La Valliere, "I never tell a falsehood; when I cannot speak the truth I remain silent."
"You will not remain long in favoi," 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.
