“I hope the queen did it as gracefully as that,” replied Molly admiringly. “But oh, Pauline, you haven’t seen the splendid ‘Court of Marble!’ I can show you the balcony above it that poor Marie Antoinette stepped out upon when she tried so hard to pacify that howling mob.”
“More than a hundred years ago that was, wasn’t it, Molly?” said Pauline, following her. “It makes me feel dreadfully modern, like an hour-old mosquito.”
After looking through the famous picture gallery, which so fully illustrates the history of France, the tourists proceeded to Grand Trianon, the palace built by Louis XIV. for Madame de Maintenon. The apartments are all on one floor.
“Perhaps the madame was clumsy and didn’t like to climb stairs,” suggested Pauline.
Paul and Kirke were delighted with the private rooms of Napoleon First, and with his gorgeous nuptial carriage seen afterwards at the Royal Stables.
But Grand Trianon did not interest any of them as much as did Little Trianon, quarter of a mile away. This is a bewitching toy hamlet in excellent preservation. Here stands the quaint old mill where Louis XVI. played at being miller, and the rustic dairy where his queen, the ill-fated Marie Antoinette, made butter with her own royal hands; and there are modest little houses grouped around the water, like our summer cottages in America.
“Aren’t you glad that poor old king and queen had a little fun before they lost their heads?” said Paul.
“If they hadn’t lost their heads first, though, they never would have dared risk so much fun,” flashed back his sister.
“There seems to have been no end to the extravagance of the French court in those days. No wonder the people were incensed,” remarked Mr. Rowe, as they entered the carriage which was to take them to Paris.
Halfway to the city they paused at the beautiful village of St. Cloud to visit the celebrated park that had once contained a palace,—the favorite resort of royalty.