A page announced the Chevalier Gluck, who came to give her Majesty a lesson on the piano.
“Let him come in”—said the queen, and Gluck entered.—“We were just speaking of you,” said the Princess Elizabeth to him; “and the queen praised you for a good dancing master.”
“And my brother bears witness to your expertness in the chase, for on that account he belongs to your party,” said Provence.
“Ah! let him alone,” cried the queen, “do not vex him with your idle talk. He will have enough to do, not to lose his patience with me.”
“Because you do not play half so well as queen, as when you were archduchess, Antoinette,” replied Gluck gravely, speaking in German.
Antoinette replied, laughing, in the same language, “Wait a little, Christophe; your ears shall ring presently.—Be quiet, ladies and gentlemen!” she added in French, and went to open the piano. In her haste she seemed to have made a mistake; for when she tried the key, she could not open the instrument. At length she started up impatiently, and cried—“Come hither, Gluck, and help me!”
Gluck tried his hand in vain; the others followed, but equally fruitless were their efforts.
“This is vexatious!” said the queen; and Gluck exclaimed—“What fool can have made such a lock?”
“Take care what you say, chevalier,” said Provence; “the king himself made the lock, and I believe it is of a new-fangled sort.”
D’Artois now went out and returned with the king. Louis XVI., in his short jacket, his head covered with an unsightly leathern cap, his face glowing, and begrimed with soot, with rough hands and a bundle of keys and picklocks at his girdle, looked, in truth, more like an industrious locksmith than a king of France.—He went and busied himself at the instrument; examined the lock with the earnest air of an artisan, and tried several keys in vain; shook his head dissatisfied, and tried others; at length he hit upon the right one. The lock yielded, and with a mien of triumph, as if he had won a battle, he cried—“Look there! it is open! Now madame, you can play.”