Christina, ex-Queen of Sweden, was not more nice in style of dress than she was in the choice of a word to add strength to her affirmations, and “_sacré-bleu_” was a mild sponsor for the swear-word she really selected on the occasion. The startling force of it, combined with the extraordinary costume she wore, excited an irrepressible burst of laughter from the queen and from Mazarin, and all present followed suit—all but the king, who looked disconcerted and rebukeful. Christina wore a wig, standing up high over her forehead, with tufts of curls sticking out, all rough and tousled, on each side of her face, which was, however, far from really ill-looking. She had on a coat, which was a cross between a man’s _pourpoint_ and a woman’s cape, put on so carelessly that it left one shoulder half-exposed. Her skirt was not cut _à la mode_ into a long train; it was merely a round petticoat, so short as to afford ample display of leg. A man’s shirt and a man’s boots completed this costume, in which the great King of Sweden’s daughter presented herself to the Majesties of France. She met the risible gaze of the Court with displeasure, and inquired what they were all staring at. “Am I humpbacked?” she demanded, “or aren’t my legs well-shaped?” The king, with courtly good-nature, threw oil on the troubled waters, and Christina was pacified, observing that Louis spoke like the king and gentleman he was. “And as for you others,” she added to the rest, “mind yourselves.” Ninon, who was indisposed, was not present at this scene; but recovering some days later, she went to the Louvre, where, thanks to her friend Madame de Choisy, she came and went constantly; and as she passed along a gallery leading to that lady’s apartments she met Madame de Choisy and Christina, who was attired in very much the same manner as already described, but slightly less _outré_. The queen was fascinated at first sight with Ninon. She placed her two hands on her shoulders and gazed long and fixedly into her face. “Now I understand, my dear,” she said at last, “all the follies the men commit, and will commit for you. Embrace me,” and she bestowed two such sounding kisses on Ninon’s cheeks, as she had bestowed on the king’s. Then taking her by the arm, she led her to her own assigned apartments, at the door of which stood two bearded men, one of them Count Monaldeschi, her Grand Master of the Horse, the other the successor of the redoubtable Desmousseaux, the Chevalier Sentinelli, captain of her guard.