My mother was delighted that I had come off so well; she only
regretted my being put under Father Vincent, who would, she feared,
render me too devout.
The next afternoon, which was Sunday, we went, all except my brother
and sister, who had what my mother called Puritan notions as to
Sunday, to see royalty walk in the Tuileries gardens. The Queen was
there, slowly pacing along with one of her sons on each side, and
beautiful boys they were, in their rich dresses of blue velvet and
white satin, with rich lace garnishings, their long fair hair on
their shoulders, and their plumed hats less often on their heads than
in their hands, as they gracefully acknowledged the homage that met
them at each step. Perhaps I thought my Gaspard quite as beautiful,
but every widow's only son is THE king of her heart; and we had so
trained the boy that he did his part to perfection kneeling and
kissing the hand which King Louis extended to him. Yet it had--to me
who was fresh to such scenes--something of the air of a little
comedy, to see such gestures of respect between the two children so
splendidly dressed, and neither of them yet nine years old.
The little King did his part well, presented M. le Marquis de
Nidemerle to his brother the Duke of Anjou, asked graciously whether
he could ride and what games he loved best, and expressed a courteous
desire that they might often meet.
My sister-in-law was also presented to the Queen, who filled her with
ecstasy by making her some compliment on the services of M.
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