He wore a blue coat embroidered with gold, a red waistcoat, and blue trousers.
All the guards through whom he had passed, when he was named to them by M. de Castries, had saluted him as they would have done a king.
“M. de Suffren,” said the king when he entered, “welcome to Versailles; you bring glory with you.”
M. de Suffren bent his knee to the king, who, however, raised him and embraced him cordially; then, turning to the queen, “Madame,” said he, “here is M. de Suffren, the victor of Trincomalee and Gondeleur, and the terror of the English.”
“Monsieur,” said the queen, “I wish you to know that you have not fired a shot for the glory of France but my heart has beaten with admiration and gratitude.”
When she ceased, the Comte d’Artois approached with his son, the Duc d’Angoulême.
“My son,” said he, “you see a hero; look at him well, for it is a rare sight.”
“Monseigneur,” replied the young prince, “I have read about the great men in Plutarch, but I could not see them; I thank you for showing me M. de Suffren.”
The king now took the arm of M. de Suffren, in order to lead him to his study, and talk to him of his travels; but he made a respectful resistance.
“Sire,” said he, “will your majesty permit me——”