Some days afterwards Louvois, who had the fault of obstinacy, came as usual to work with the King in Madame de Maintenon’s rooms.  At the end of the sitting he said, that he felt convinced that it was scrupulousness alone which had hindered the King from consenting to so necessary an act as the burning, of Treves, and that he had, therefore, taken the responsibility on himself by sending a courier with orders to set fire to the place at once.

The King was immediately, and contrary to his nature, so transported with anger that he seized the tongs, and was about to make a run at Louvois, when Madame de Maintenon placed herself between them, crying, “Oh, Sire, what are you going to do?” and took the tongs from his hands.

Louvois, meanwhile, gained the door.  The King cried after him to recall him, and said, with flashing eyes:  “Despatch a courier instantly with a counter order, and let him arrive in time; for, know this:  if a single house is burned your head shall answer for it.”  Louvois, more dead than alive, hastened away at once.

Of course, he had sent off no courier.  He said he had, believing that by this trick the King, though he might be angry, would be led to give way.  He had reckoned wrongly, however, as we have seen.

From this time forward Louvois became day by day more distasteful to the King.  In the winter of 1690, he proposed that, in order to save expense, the ladies should not accompany the King to the siege of Mons. Madame de Maintenon, we may be sure, did not grow more kindly disposed towards him after this.  But as it is always the last drop of water that makes the glass overflow, so a trifle that happened at this siege, completed the disgrace of Louvois.

The King, who plumed himself upon knowing better than anybody the minutest military details, walking one day about the camp, found an ordinary cavalry guard ill-posted, and placed it differently.  Later the same day he again visited by chance the spot, and found the guard replaced as at first.  He was surprised and shocked.  He asked the captain who had done this, and was told it was Louvois.

“But,” replied the King, “did you not tell him ’twas I who had placed you?”

“Yes, Sire,” replied the captain.  The King piqued, turned towards his suite, and said:  “That’s Louvois’s trade, is it not?  He thinks himself a great captain, and that he knows everything,” and forthwith he replaced the guard as he had put it in the morning.  It was, indeed, foolishness and insolence on the part of Louvois, and the King had spoken truly of him.  The King was so wounded that he could not pardon him.  After Louvois’s death, he related this incident to Pomponne, still annoyed at it, as I knew by means of the Abbe de Pomponne.

After the return from Mons the dislike of the King for Louvois augmented to such an extent, that this minister, who was so presumptuous, and who thought himself so necessary, began to tremble.  The Marechale de Rochefort having gone with her daughter, Madame de Blansac, to dine with him at Meudon, he took them out for a ride in a little ‘calache’, which he himself drove.  They heard him repeatedly say to himself, musing profoundly, “Will he?  Will he be made to?  No—­and yet—­no, he will not dare.”