“General,” she said with one of the smiles of her sunnier days, “Count Bouille is not a severe republican like you: he comes from Metz, not from America; he does not come to bother about Constitutions but to present his homage. Do not be astonished at the favor shown him by a nearly dethroned Queen, which this country squire may esteem a boon——“
She completed her sentence by a playful smile as much as to say: “You are a Scipio and think nothing of such nonsense.”
“It is a pity for me, and a great misfortune for your Majesty,” returned Lafayette, “that I pass without my respect and devotion being noticed.”
The Queen looked at him with her clear, searching eye. This was not the first time that he had spoken in this strain and set her thinking: but unfortunately, as he had said, she entertained an instinctive repugnance for him.
“Come, general, be generous and pardon me, my outburst of kindness towards this excellent Bouille family, which loves me with a whole heart and of which this youth is the chain of contact. I see his whole family in him, coming to kiss my hand. Let us shake hands, as the American and English do, and be good friends.”
The marquis touched the hand coldly.
“I regret that you do not bear in mind that I am French. The night of the attack on the Royal Family at Versailles ought to remind you.”
“You are right, general,” responded the lady, making an effort and shaking his hand. “I am ungrateful. Any news?”
Lafayette had a little revenge to take.
“No; merely an incident in the House. An old man of one hundred and twenty was brought to the bar by five generations of descendants to thank the Representatives for having made him free. Think of one who was born a serf under Louis XIV. and eighty years after.”