“Your majesty,” said Andrée, “here is my brother.”
Philippe bowed gravely.
The queen, who had until now been looking at his figure reflected in her mirror, turned round and saluted him. She was beautiful, with that royal beauty which made all around her not only partisans of the throne, but adorers of the woman. She possessed the power of beauty; and, if we may make use of the inversion, the beauty of power. Philippe, seeing her smile, and feeling those limpid eyes, at once soft and proud, fixed upon him, turned pale, and could hardly restrain his emotion.
“It appears, M. de Taverney,” said she, “that you pay me your first visit; I thank you for it.”
“Your majesty deigns to forget that it is I who should give thanks.”
“How many years have passed since we last met, monsieur? Alas! the most beautiful part of our lives.”
“For me, madame, but not for your majesty, to whom all days are alike charming.”
“You were then pleased with America, M. de Taverney, as you remained there so long?”
“Madame,” answered Philippe, “M. de la Fayette, when he left the New World, had need of an officer in whom he could place confidence to take the command of the French auxiliaries. He proposed me, therefore, to General Washington, who accepted me.”
“It seems,” said the queen, “that this new country sends us home many heroes.”