"Messieurs," said Louis, showing to his companions a long and richly-laden avenue of orange trees, "are not these a noble present from our ancient enemy, Philip the Fourth, now our father-in-law? He has rifled his own gardens to deck the Tuileries; and the Infanta, we hope, when walking beneath these trees, will cease to regret the shade of the Escurial."
"Sire," said Colbert gravely, "the Queen mourns a much greater loss—that of your majesty's affections."
"Parbleu!" exclaimed Lauzun, gayly; "in order to lose any thing, one must first have possessed it. Now, if I don't mistake,—"
"Silence! M. le Duc. M. de Colbert, my marriage was the work of Mazarin—quite sufficient to guarantee that the heart was not consulted."
The minister bowed, without replying.
"As to you, M. de Lauzun," continued the king, "beware, henceforward, how you forget that Maria Theresa is Queen of France, and that the nature of our feelings towards her is not to be made a subject of discussion."
"Sire, forgive my—"
"Enough!" interrupted Louis, approaching a man, who, unmindful of the king's presence, had taken off his coat, in order the more easily to prune a tall flowering shrub.
This was the celebrated gardener, Le Nôtre. Absorbed in some unpleasant train of thought, he had not heeded the approach of visitors, and continued to mutter and grumble to himself, while diligently using the pruning-knife.
"What! out of humor?" asked Louis.