The king wished to see the portrait again, as he was unable to see the original. He pointed out several alterations to the painter and left the room, and then Saint-Aignan dismissed the artist. The easel, paints, and painter himself, had scarcely gone, when Malicorne showed his head in the doorway. He was received by Saint-Aignan with open arms, but still with a little sadness, for the cloud which had passed across the royal sun, veiled, in its turn, the faithful satellite, and Malicorne at a glance perceived the melancholy that brooded on Saint-Aignan’s face.
“Oh, monsieur le comte,” he said, “how sad you seem!”
“And good reason too, my dear Monsieur Malicorne. Will you believe that the king is still dissatisfied?”
“With his staircase, do you mean?”
“Oh, no; on the contrary, he is delighted with the staircase.”
“The decorations of the apartments, I suppose, don’t please him.”
“Oh! he has not even thought of that. No, indeed, it seems that what has dissatisfied the king—”
“I will tell you, monsieur le comte,—he is dissatisfied at finding himself the fourth person at a rendezvous of this kind. How is it possible you could not have guessed that?”
“Why, how is it likely I could have done so, dear M. Malicorne, when I followed the king’s instructions to the very letter?”
“Did his majesty really insist on your being present?”