“Madame,” replied Philippe, “here you amuse yourself with the cold, but there they die of it.”
“Ah, here is my chocolate; Andrée, take a cup with me.”
Andrée bowed, coloring with pleasure.
“You see, M. de Taverney, I am always the same, hating all etiquette, as in old times. Do you remember those old days? Are you changed since then, M. Philippe?”
“No, madame,” replied the young man, “I am not changed—at least, not in heart.”
“Well, I am glad to hear that, for it was a good one. A cup for M. de Taverney, Madame de Misery.”
“Oh, madame!” cried Philippe, “you cannot mean it; such an honor for a poor obscure soldier like me.”
“An old friend,” said the queen; “this day seems to remind me of my youth; I seem again happy, free, proud and yet foolish. This day recalls to me that happy time at my dear Trianon, and all our frolics there, Andrée and I together. This day brings back to my memory my roses, my strawberries, and my birds, that I was so fond of, all, even to my good gardeners, whose happy faces often announced to me a new flower or a delicious fruit; and M. de Jussieu and that original old Rousseau, who is since dead. But come,” continued she, herself pouring the chocolate into his cup, “you are a soldier, and accustomed to fire, so burn yourself gloriously with this chocolate, for I am in a hurry.”
She laughed, but Philippe, taking it seriously, drank it off most heroically.
The queen saw him, and laughing still more, said, “You are indeed a perfect hero, M. de Taverney.” She then rose, and her woman brought her bonnet, ermine mantle, and gloves.