“Ah! but this is magnificent!” he said, with an affected lisp. “Who shall say after this it is the nobility alone that understand what is befitting the presence of royalty? Under such protection I shall be sure of success.” Dame Tillery had found such unthought of success in her last protégée that she was emboldened to test her fortune again, and, being a woman, was particularly pleased that this time her companion would be a handsome and dashing fellow, who would not feel abashed by anything he might see at the palace. “You are in haste, I see,” observed the page, helping himself to the nearest dish; “but this omelet is delicious, and I must detain you for another plate.” “Take your time; take plenty of time,” answered the dame, charmed that he should have praised the dish she had herself prepared; “it will be half an hour before her majesty can be kept waiting, so there is no especial haste; still it is always well to be ready.” The page finished his omelet, shook off a crumb or two of bread, that had fallen among his ribbons, and arose. “Pray, my good dame, glance your eyes over my person, that I may be sure that all is right,” he said, pluming himself like a bird. “It seems to me that this love-lock might be brought forward the fraction of an inch with good effect. Pray let me have your judgment on the matter.” Dame Tillery took the glossy curl between her fat thumb and finger, laid it very daintily a little forward on the shoulder, and stood back with her head on one side to mark the effect. “That is perfect,” she said. “The Duke de Richelieu’s love-lock fell just in that way when he presented us yesterday. He is a handsome man, a little younger than you, I should think; but if I were to choose——” “Younger than me, dame, that seems impossible. Look again.” It seemed as if the page were determined to challenge the woman’s most critical attention, for he went close to her that she might scrutinize his face, and exclaimed at last, “Now, can you persist in saying that I am not younger than the Duke de Richelieu?” “Well, I am not sure. At a little distance I should say no; but with the light on your face—” “There, there! do not say it, the very thought breaks my heart,” said the page, interrupting her airily. “One does so hate to feel the bloom of his youth going. But I am keeping you. It is time—it is time.” Dame Tillery took her fan from a corner where she had placed it, and settling all the amplitude of her garments, led the way into the street, and sailed off toward the palace like a frigate with all her canvas set to a stiff breeze. The people of the town, who had by this time heard pretty generally of her good fortune, crowded to their doors and windows to see the dame pass. Children paused, open-mouthed, in the street, wondering at her finery; and those who met her stood aside, as if contact with royalty had given her some mysterious prerogatives, which they were bound to reverence.