"Good!" exclaimed the King. "Let every one describe his favourite. Fürstenberg shall begin."
The King smiled maliciously as he said this, and Fürstenberg made a grimace.
"The precedence has been given to me," said the young favourite, "but this is only a proof that his Majesty sees everything. The King knows that I cannot lie, and this is why he exposes me to such a humiliation. But I entreat your Majesty to excuse me from drawing a picture of my favourite."
"No, no!" exclaimed several voices. "It is not necessary to give the portrait a name, but the King's commands must be obeyed."
All knew, more or less, why the young Prince was reluctant to speak. This was a critical moment of his life, for he was playing a love comedy with a widow over forty years of age, and famous for the fact that, owing to the thickness of the paint she put on her face, it was impossible for any one to see the colour of her skin. The widow was rich, and Fürstenberg was in need of money.
When they became too noisy, the King commanded silence, and said,--
"You must depict this painted love of yours."
To gain courage to perform the task imposed on him, the giddy young courtier emptied his glass.
"My love," said he, "is the prettiest lady in the world. Who can deny it? Who can tell what is hidden beneath the mask which she puts on in order to prevent common mortals from looking at her?"
A loud burst of laughter here interrupted him.