“In a quarter of an hour he will be at your majesty’s feet.”
Scarcely was Andrée gone, when the queen saw reflected in the glass an arch and laughing face. “My brother D’Artois,” cried the queen; “how you frightened me!”
“Good morning, your majesty,” said the young prince; “how did your majesty pass the night?”
“Very badly, brother.”
“And the morning?”
“Very well.”
“That is the most important; I guessed that all had gone right, for I have just met the king, and he was smiling most graciously.”
The queen laughed, and he echoed it.
The queen had just cast off her dressing-gown of India muslin, and put on her morning dress, when the door opened and Andrée entered, leading by the hand a handsome man with a brown complexion, noble black eyes, profoundly imbued with melancholy, and a soldier-like carriage. He looked like one of Coypel’s or Gainsborough’s beautiful portraits.
He was dressed in a dark gray coat, embroidered in silver, a white cravat, and a dark waistcoat; and this rather somber style of dress seemed to suit the manly character of his beauty.