'I shall never forget,' said the dauphine, holding out her hand for Choiseul to kiss, 'I shall never forget that it is you who have made my happiness.' 'And that of France,' answered the minister. And then the royal carriage drove out and the king dismounted, followed by his daughters, and Marie Antoinette fell on her knees before him, as her mother had bidden her. But Louis raised her and kissed her, and presented the dauphin, who took far less interest in the bride than his grandfather. For some reason or other, the court of France had not expected the future queen to be more than tolerably good-looking, and when she entered the royal apartments where the princes of the blood were awaiting her, led by the king and the dauphin, they were all startled by her beauty. It was not only the brilliant complexion, the fair hair with hardly a touch of powder, or the bright blue eyes which they admired, it was the sort of radiance of expression, the life and power of enjoyment, shown in the pictures painted at that time. And she had charms besides, which in the French court were more dearly prized than mere loveliness; she had an air of distinction and dignity not always possessed by people of high birth. She was tall for her age, and held herself well, and could answer the fine compliments that were then in fashion, with equal grace and courtesy. The ceremony of presentation that now took place would have been rather alarming to most young princesses. One by one the king introduced his cousins. First the duc d'Orléans and his son the duc de Chartres (hereafter to become Philippe Egalité, and lose his head on the guillotine), then the whole Condé family, and the duc de Penthièvre and his son, and the lovely princesse de Lamballe; then those who were more remote. After each one had bowed or curtseyed, he or she sat on an armchair and when all the armchairs were full, as in a game, the duc d'Orléans, the senior prince of the blood, rose, bowed again, and backed to the door, followed by the rest in order of precedence.