“It is a mere matter of taste, my dear Sir Richard,” said the Count of Nullepart, smiling.
Yet the count had already followed the example of his leader, having put on his bonnet and having doffed his shoes. I also had deemed it necessary to do the same.
Therefore, when the grave French nobleman presently returned to say that the most Christian King would see us in audience, he found us seated in somewhat remarkable case.
CHAPTER XXVII
OF OUR AUDIENCE OF THE MOST CHRISTIAN KING
I think the Marquis de Contreville-Lancy—that, as we afterwards learned, was the name of this gentleman—had some little surprise when he saw in what fashion we were disposed for our audience of the King, his master. Yet, if surprised he was, and I think, good reader, in this instance a little of such an eminently natural feeling is to be pardoned, he was far too grave and serious a nobleman to display it unduly. Yet I feel sure he viewed our appearance not without displeasure, and I believe it gave as high a relief to his feelings as it did to my own, when Sir Richard Pendragon coming to stand up, exclaimed, “This French marble is plaguy cold to the feet. Upon my good soul! it is a kind of distemper to buy a pair of shoes tricked with silver and then to walk barefoot before the king’s majesty.”
“All the same, good Sir Richard,” said the Count of Nullepart, “it is well known that the etiquette of the French court is very nice.”
In consequence of Sir Richard Pendragon’s new qualms, the Marquis de Contreville-Lancy was taken into our counsels. And I feel bound to state that the reference to this dignified nobleman proved highly fortunate. He persuaded Sir Richard Pendragon not only to don his shoes, but also to doff his bonnet. For he declared that any other proceeding would gravely imperil our embassy.
This piece of whimsicality being thus happily adjusted, we repaired in a wholly civilized mode to the presence of the first prince of the age. I cannot tell you, reader, what were my feelings when for the first time in my life, and at a period when I had barely attained to the estate of manhood, I found myself within a few paces of so august a personage.
Upon first coming into the presence of King Louis I could observe very little, for a most singular haze rose before my eyes. When afterwards I came to mention this phenomenon to the learned Count of Nullepart, he said that all who entered the presence of majesty were thus afflicted. It was a kind of exhalation, he said, which embodied their divinity. At the time, however, I was not aware of this interesting fact in natural philosophy. I only knew that there was nothing in the apartment that I could descry at all clearly, yet, understanding by a kind of instinct that my two companions were bowing low, I followed their example.
When at last I could see the King more fully he was conversing with Sir Richard Pendragon. The remarkable man who had come to lead our embassy had the seemliness to conduct himself with a most polite civility, of which I had scarcely suspected him to be capable. After humbly saluting the hand of the monarch, he paid King Louis some highly flattering addresses, and sinking to one knee—an act of courtly homage that was so well performed that it must have been the fruit of long practice—presented to the King the cartel of our mistress.