The apartments of the Queen in the palace of Versailles were on the south side of the rez-de-chaussée, in the body of the palace, looking out along the south wing. They consisted of five rooms, the Salon de la Reine, where so many royal functions were held, being between her Majesty's bedroom and the Salle du Grand Couvert; while a third door on the north side opened into the antechamber which led out to the Court of the Staircase. This last small room was, to her Majesty's circle, what the Œil-de-Bœuf was to the general court.
The reception planned for this evening of Sunday, November 21st, was to be rather more ceremonious than such affairs became later in the season. There would be six presentations—a large number; and, to the Queen's delight, not only her usual small circle of friends, but the entire Court, had assembled here for the first time in more than a year. Judging from her smiling appearance, it was not probable that the Queen guessed that the reason why her rooms were so frequented was that certain tongues had set afloat the rumor that a new candidate for the favorite's post was to be presented to-night to Queen and Court, to be judged by them as eligible or not.
At one side of her salon, upon a raised dais, beneath a golden canopy, sat Marie Leczinska, royally dressed, looking only like the gentle Polish woman that she was, talking in low tones with Mme. de Boufflers, who would have liked very well to escape for a few moments into the throng. In two semicircular lines, from the throne to the door of the anteroom, leaving between them an open space, stood the dames d'étiquette, or, more properly, the ladies of the palace of the Queen, among whom, magnificently dressed, with the proceeds of her forthcoming task, was the Princess de Conti. Behind these formidable rows the rest of the Court stood, packed in such close masses that many a hooped toilet was threatened with collapse. About the throne were gathered the Queen's immediate friends, the "Saints," as they were termed by members of the King's set; Mme. de Boufflers, from necessity; the Duc and Duchesse de Luynes; M. and Mme. de la Vauguyon; the Duc and Duchesse de Luxembourg; the Cardinal de Tencin; the Cardinal de Luynes; Mme. d'Alincourt; the inevitable Père Griffet; and President Hénault. One person, however, who was becoming a very familiar figure to the Queen's household, was not with them to-night. This was the Abbé François de Bernis, whose connection with Mme. de Coigny had never been discussed in that part of the palace.
M. de Bernis was not, however, absent from Court on this interesting occasion. At the present moment he was in the antechamber, conversing in his peculiarly charming manner with a lady to whom he had just been presented by Richelieu, and who was to be presented to the Queen by Mme. de Conti—Mme. Lenormand d'Etioles. An extremely pretty woman she was, thought the abbé; and well dressed also, in her white satin, with stately hoops, and her neck covered with the sapphires that matched her eyes. While chatting with de Bernis she eyed Richelieu or made close scrutinies of the half-dozen other ladies in the room, with one of whom her stout husband was talking nervously.
"Are all the women here, Monsieur l'Abbé?" she asked, presently.
De Bernis glanced about him. "I have not yet seen Mme. de Mailly. She is late."
"Ah, Mme. de Mailly—the new Countess, is she not? I am curious to see her. She is a cousin of Mme. de Châteauroux."
"Her husband is the cousin. His wife—" de Bernis shrugged—"ended his exile for him, and so brought him back to his famous Marie Anne. However, they say that he never sees her now, so furious is the jealousy of his fair colonial. You know it has been whispered, madame, that his Majesty is less insensible than the young de Mailly."
"Ah! She is not lost yet, then?" inquired Mme. d'Etioles, hastily.
"Not yet. But—when you have been presented, madame—" and de Bernis finished the tactful sentence with a look which completed it admirably.