CHAPTER XXI.
THE KING’S PRIVATE SUPPER-PARTY.
THE marshal found his royal master in the little parlor, whither a few courtiers had followed him, preferring to lose their meal than have his glances fall on somebody else.
But Louis had other matters to do than look at these lords. The paltriness of these parasites would have made him smile at another time: but they awakened no emotion on this occasion in the railing monarch, who would spare no infirmity in his best friend—granting that he had any friends.
He went to the window and saw the coach of Dubarry driven away at great speed.
“The countess must be in a rage to go off without saying good-bye to me,” he said aloud.
Richelieu, who had been waiting for his cue to enter, glided in at this speech.
“Furious, Sire?” he repeated; “because your Majesty had a little sport this evening? that would be bad on her ladyship’s part.”
“Duke, deuce a bit did I find sport,” said the King: “on the other hand, I am fagged, and want repose. Music enervates me: I should have done better to go over to Luciennes for supper and wine: yes, plenty of drink, for though the wine there is wretched, it sends one to sleep. Still I can have a doze here.”
“Your Majesty is a hundred times right.”
“Besides, the countess will find more fun without me. Am I so very lively a companion? though she asserts I am, I don’t believe a word of it.”