"God bless me! I take it as I must, sir," cried Létorière, resolutely setting his hand on his hip.
At this bravado, M. de Richelieu and the unknown burst out laughing, and the Marquis began to feel very much irritated, when St. Clair, who had not dismounted from the horse without difficulty, approached, hat in hand, and said to the gentleman clothed in gray:
"Sire, nothing can be done with that mare."
"The King!" cried the Marquis in confusion, and he knelt and bowed his head with a repentant air.
"By St. Louis, my young friend," said Louis XV., smiling, "I have seen the time when you would remind us that all gentlemen are our peers, and that in the old times a chevalier could cross lances with a king."
"Ah, Sire! pardon . . . pardon." . . .
"Come! rise, rise, my gentle knight," . . . and by a movement full of that majestic grace that this most amiable and most graceful of kings exhibited, in even the most trifling acts, he touched slightly, with the tip of his finger, Létorière's cheek, who, still on his knee, kissed this beautiful royal hand with profound veneration.
Létorière arose, his forehead suffused with a charming blush, his beautiful black eyes moist with tears, so profoundly was he touched with the ineffable kindness of his sovereign.
This emotion, so pure, so youthful and so naïve, struck Louis XV. delightfully. The most adroit flattery could not have effected this favorable impression.
"What is your name, my child?" he asked, regarding the Marquis with interest.