'I do not understand you, monsieur,' replied the young Earl, gravely; 'my faith is for my friend--my sword is at the service of the King.' 'So is mine, my Lord,' said the gay Brissac; 'and moreover my hand and moustache are at the service of all fair ladies of his court. Morbleu! don't let us quarrel over this excellent wine; but tell us, M. Blane, got you much plunder in Alsace?' 'A younger son's share only; but whose stately château is that, on the other side of the water?' I asked, pointing to a large edifice which was visible between the elms. 'That is Trianon, a retreat of the King's. He comes to Versailles when tired of Paris; and goes lo Trianon when tired of Versailles.' 'Of which he will soon tire now,' said a chevalier of the French guards, with a wicked wink. 'You smile, monsieur?' said I. 'Of course.' 'Why?' 'Madame d'Amboise is there just now.' 'At Trianon?' 'Yes.' 'And Anne of Austria--' 'Is no doubt busy with M. le Cardinal, adjusting the boundaries of France at the Rhine.' There was such a loud explosion of laughter at this remark, that I am sure 'M. le Cardinal' would have knit his brows had he heard it. Trianon was in the form of an oval; in the centre was a large iron gate, having two sentinels of the French line, pacing before it. It had numerous pavilions crowned by glittering vanes; and its cornice was surmounted by an elaborate balustrade, and row of porcelain vases. It was gaily beautiful, for everywhere flowers bloomed, fountains played, and golden fish swam in the ponds around it. Again my old emotions of pique at the Countess returned, and I resolved to depart at once to Paris, after thanking M. de Brissac for his courtesy, and drinking a farewell bumper to the Earl of Irvine. This young peer was a son of Archibald seventh Earl of Argyle. He had served long against the Spaniards, and obtained a Scottish earldom from Charles I.; but died without heirs-male, and his title became extinct. He was brave, handsome, and a mirror of military honour. I did not leave immediately for Paris, but wandered irresolutely about Versailles. The afternoon proved hot and sultry. There was not a breath of wind to stir a leaf of the three avenues of giant elms that diverge from the castle. The air and the canals between the latter and Trianon were alike still and motionless. The sun played with a golden gleam between the glittering fountains, on the yellow fruit of the orangery, and cast long flakes of hazy light athwart the deep shady vistas of the greater avenue; and now since the hunting-train had dispersed, all seemed lifeless and calm about this beautiful summer residence of Louis XIII.