Gilbert knew nothing about this, and it was only when he got to Muette that he recognized the coach of Dubarry, with Zamore mounted on a high white horse. Luckily it was dark, and Gilbert threw himself on the ground in a grove and waited.
The king, then, shared supper between mistress and daughter-in-law, and was merry especially on seeing that the newcomer treated the usurper more kindly even than at Compiegne.
But the dauphin, gloomy and careworn, spoke of having the headache, and retired before they sat at table.
The supper was prolonged to eleven o'clock.
The king sent a band of music to play to the repast for the gentry of the retinue—of which our proud Andrea had to admit she was a member; as the accommodation was limited, fifty masters had to picnic on the lawn, served by men in royal livery. In the thicket, Gilbert lost nothing of this scene. Taking out a piece of bread, he ate along with the guests, while watching that those he attended to did not slip away.
After the meal, the dauphiness came out on the balcony to take leave of her hosts. Near her stood the king. Countess Dubarry kept out of sight in the back of the room, with that exquisite tact which even her enemies allowed she had.
The courtiers passed under the balcony to salute the king, who named such of them to the dauphiness as she did not already know. From time to time some happy allusion or pleasant saying dropped from his lips, to delight those who received it. Seeing this servility, Gilbert muttered to himself:
"I am a touch above these slaves, for I would not crouch like that for all the gold in the world."
He rose on one knee when the turn came for the Taverneys to pass.
"Captain Taverney," said the dauphiness, "I grant you leave to conduct your father and sister to Paris."