In after years, when Mary assumed the burden of regal dignity, she was exposed to the malevolent misinterpretation of a Court to which she was almost as much a stranger as was her husband himself. She was considered too fond of the frivolous gaieties from which in truth she shrank, and she writes: “The world who cannot see the heart ... began to take notice of the change that was in my life, and comparing my way of living in Holland to that here, were much scandalised to see me grown so remiss.” But this kind of criticism, which was unjust, did not prevent her pursuing the course she considered right; and although on the King’s birthday in 1689 a ball was given at her desire, she tells us:-- “I really thought it no proper time, when war was round about, and my father himself engaged against us.... Yet such is the depravation of this age and place where I live, none seems to think of such things, and so, ill-custom prevailing, there was a ball, but by my writings may be seen how I endeavoured to spend that day as also the next, which was Gunpowder Treason, God be praised for it.” The following particulars of a grand ball given at Marli in July 1705, at which the royal exiles of St. Germains were present, is a proof of the respectful consideration with which they were treated by Louis XIV. At the upper end of the saloon in which the ball took place were placed three fauteuils for the King of France, the widowed Queen of England, and her son--Mary Beatrice, as in the lifetime of her royal consort, occupying the centre seat. The titular King of England opened the ball with his sister, the King of France standing all the time they were dancing. This mark of respect, it is said, he would have done every time the young royal pair danced together, had not Mary Beatrice induced him to be seated; and even then it was not till he had paid them this token of regard twice or thrice that he would consent to sit down.