Versailles is still fine to look upon; but it was splendid to view in the period of its glory.
Particularly was it resplendent when a great ceremony was performed, when the wardrobes and warehouses were ransacked to display their sumptuous treasures, and the dazzling illuminations doubled the magic of its wealth.
It had degenerated, but it still was glowing when it opened all its doors and lit up all its flambeaux to hail the court reception of Countess Dubarry. The curious populace forgot its misery and its rags before so much bewildering show, and crammed the squares and Paris road.
All the palace windows spouted flame, and the skyrockets resembled stars floating and shooting in a golden dust.
The king came out of his private rooms at ten precisely, dressed with more care than usual, his lace being richer and the jewels in his garter and shoe buckles being worth a fortune. Informed by Satines that the court ladies were plotting against his favorite, he was careworn and trembled with fury when he saw none but men in the ante-chamber. But he took heart when, in the queen's drawing-room, set aside for the reception, he saw in a cloud of powder and diamond luster, his three daughters, and all the ladies who had vowed the night before to stay away. The Duke of Richelieu ran from one to another, playfully reproaching them for giving in and complimenting them on thinking better of it.
"But what has made you come, duke?" they naturally challenged him.
"Oh, I am not here really—I am but the proxy for my daughter, Countess Egmont. If you will look around you will not see her; she alone, with Lady Grammont and Lady Guemenee has kept the pledge to keep aloof. I am sure what will happen to me for practically staying away. I shall be sent into exile for the fifth time, or to the Bastille for the fourth. That will end my plotting, and I vow to conspire never again."
The king remarked the absentees, and he went up to the Duke of Choiseul who affected the utmost calm and demanded: