“Never, sire.”
“Oh, never, sire,” said M. de Crosne, with perfect sincerity. “But will you permit me, sire?”
“Certainly, monsieur; question, search as much as you please; I place the princess at your disposal.”
Madame de Lamballe smiled. “I am ready,” she said.
“Madame,” said the lieutenant of police, “have the goodness to tell his majesty what you did there, and how the queen was dressed.”
“She had on a dress of gray taffeta, a mantle of embroidered muslin, an ermine muff, and a rose-colored velvet bonnet, trimmed with black.”
M. de Crosne looked astonished. It was a totally different dress from that which he had had described to him. The Comte de Provence bit his lips with vexation, and the king rubbed his hands.
“What did you do on entering?” asked he.
“Sire, you are right to say on entering, for we had hardly entered the room——”
“Together?”