He bowed again, and barely brushed with his lips the rosy finger nails of the marquise. She saw no impoliteness in that, far from it, but just a little too much modesty.

Immediately the little chambermaid reappeared (the big ones were not up yet), and behind them, erect as a steeple among a flock of sheep, the bony gentleman, always smiling, showed him the way.

VI

Alone, sunk in an old arm-chair, shut up in his little room at the Sun inn, the chevalier waited all the next day, then the day after; no news.

‘A singular woman! sweet and imperious, good-natured and spiteful, most frivolous and most obstinate! She has forgotten me. Oh, bad luck! She is right. She has all the power and I am nothing.’

He had risen and was pacing the room.

‘Nothing at all. I am only a poor wretch. How true were my father’s words! The marquise was making fun of me: it is quite simple, while I was watching her, it was her own beauty which pleased her. She was quite content to see in that mirror and in my eyes the reflection of her charms, which, by Jove, are really incomparable! Yes, her eyes are little, but what grace! And Latour, before Diderot, took to paint her portrait the dust of a butterfly’s wings. She is not very tall, but her figure is well shaped. Ah! Mademoiselle d’Annebault! Ah! my dear love, could I, too, be one of the men who forget!’

Two or three smart little knocks on the door aroused him from his peevishness.

‘What’s that?’

The bony man, dressed all in black, with a fine pair of silk stockings stuffed to stimulate the calves he did not possess, entered and made a low bow.

‘This evening, my lord, there is a masked ball at the Court, and madame the marquise sends me to tell you that you are invited.’

‘That is all I require, sir, many thanks.’

When the bony man had gone away, the chevalier rushed to the bell. The same serving girl who three days before had assisted him as well as she could to dress, helped him to put on the same spangled suit, trying to turn him out still finer.

After which the young man made his way to the palace, invited this time, and more tranquil as far as looks went, but more nervous and less audacious than when he had taken the first step in this as yet unknown world.

VII

Dazzled, almost as much as the first time, by all the splendours of Versailles, which this evening was not a desert, the chevalier walked in the great gallery, looking on every side, trying to conceive why he should be there, but nobody seemed to think of speaking to him. At the end of an hour, he got tired and was going to go away, when two masked ladies, exactly alike, seated on a bench, stopped him on his way. One of them pointed her finger at him, as if she were holding a pistol; the other rose and came to him.

‘It seems, sir,’ said the masked lady to him, taking his arm carelessly, ‘that you are pretty friendly with our marquise.’

‘I beg your pardon, madame, but of whom are you speaking?’