In fact, with my mother and my godmother commanding me,
and Eustace and the Prince of Wales looking on, it was like a return
to one's childhood. At last I satisfied my royal instructress, and
as she agreed with my mother that my mourning befitted the occasion
off we set en grande tenue to cross the court to the Tuileries in a
little procession, the Queen, attended by my mother and Lady Morton
as her ladies, and by Lord Jermyn and Eustace as her gentlemen-in-
waiting.
Mademoiselle also came, out of a sort of good-natured curiosity, but
the Prince of Wales shook his head.
'I have no mind to show Madame the value of a tabouret,' he said.
'Believe me, Meg, I may sit on such an eminence in the august
presence of my mother and my regent aunt, but if my small cousin, the
Most Christian King, should enter, I must be dethroned, and a
succession of bows must ensue before we can either of us be seated.
I always fear that I shall some day break out with the speech of King
Lear's fool: 'Cry you mercy, I took you for a joint stool.''
This passed while I, who came in the rear of the procession, was
waiting to move on, and I believe Queen Henrietta was descanting to
her niece on the blessing that her son's high spirits never failed
him through all their misfortunes.
However, in due time we reached the apartments of the Queen-Regent,
the way lined with guards, servants, and splendid gentlemen, who all
either presented arms or bowed as our English Queen passed along,
with an easy, frank majesty about her that bespoke her a daughter of
the place, and at home there.
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