“Thanks, M. de Taverney,” said she; then, in a lower tone, “Mon Dieu, how disagreeable it is to be always surrounded by spying fools!”
A number of ladies and gentlemen soon crowded round her, and all looked with no little curiosity at Philippe, who, to hide his confusion, stooped to take off his skates, and then fell into the background.
After a short time, however, the queen said, “I shall take cold if I sit here, I must take another turn;” and she remounted her sledge.
Philippe waited, but in vain, for another order.
Twenty gentlemen soon presented themselves, but she said, “No, I thank you, I have my attendants;” and she moved slowly off, while Philippe remained alone.
He looked about for St. George, to console him for his defeat by some compliment, but he had received a message from his patron, the duke d’Orleans, and had left the place.
Philippe, therefore, rather tired, and half frightened at all that had passed, remained stationary, following with his eyes the queen’s sledge, which was now at some distance, when he felt some one touch him; he turned round and saw his father.
The little old man, more shrunk than ever, enveloped in furs like a Laplander, had touched his son with his elbow, that he might not be obliged to take his hands out of the muff that hung from his neck.
“You do not embrace me, my son,” said he.
“My dear father, I do it with all my heart.”