On the 15th of May, 1685, Louis ordered his throne to be placed at the end of the grand gallery, by the side of the “Salon of Peace.” The doge entered with four senators Genoa had sent to accompany him. He was dressed in red velvet, with a cap of the same. In order to preserve all the dignity his misfortune allowed him, the doge remained covered until he entered the presence of the king. The king allowed the princes to remain covered during the audience. The doge discharged his sad mission with a firmness that created astonishment. His bearing was more impressive than his discourse. A few days after he attended the levee, dined with the king, was shown the park and all the fountains, and was present at a ball given in the grand apartment. Afterwards he had his audience of leave-taking, and when one of the senators asked him what surprised him most at Versailles, he replied with an air of more chagrin than usual, “At seeing myself there.” The doge and senators did not stay long in France. They saw in haste the wonders shown them, and then returned to Genoa. Arrived at home, they talked over the things they had seen. One senator spoke of the dazzling spectacles, the vast apartments, the sumptuous ornaments; and said no mind was powerful enough to carry away the remembrance of all the riches of the palace, its paintings, its statues, its tapestry, its ceilings, its gold, and its marble. The doge replied, there was more than its exterior magnificence, and luxury of its interior; that the palace was the whole French monarchy. You read the origin of the monarchy in the chateau built by Louis XIII. The architects wished to pull it down; the king replied, that, if it would not last, they must take it down, but reconstruct it on its first plan. He wished the work of his father to remain, to contrast with the edifice he was going to erect. One part of the building only projects immensely in the long outline, that is where the master dwells. The king walks alone in the first rank, the courtiers follow, and support the train of the royal mantle. If you mount by the grand staircase, you find a suite of immense _salons_, covered with beautiful paintings. The Salon of Plenty, then Venus, then Diana, then Mars, then Mercury, and then Apollo. Of what use are they? The master does not inhabit them. But go on farther, pass through empty galleries, you will at length find his apartments. All this suite of magnificent _salons_, all these galleries, serve as an ante-chamber only to the place in which he dwells. Mars and Apollo, gods formerly, are nothing now but lackeys to the king of France.