Monsignor hardly noticed the rest (there were perhaps twelve or fifteen all told, with half a dozen women amongst them); he looked only, as he came round the pond, at the central figure that advanced to meet him. Twice he had seen him yesterday--yet those occasions had been public. But to see the King now, at ease amongst his friends, yet still royally dressed in his brilliant blue suit and feathered hat, with his tall cane--to see the whole company, gay and brilliant, talking and laughing, taking their pleasure in the air before breakfast--the whole thing somehow brought home to him the reality of what appeared to him as a change, more than had all the pomps and glories of the day before. Splendour no longer seemed ceremonial, but natural. Monsignor Allet was explaining something in rapid French in the King's ear, and as the two came up, the face that listened smiled suddenly with intelligence. "I give you welcome," he said in excellent English. "Come, gentlemen" (he turned to the others, who had risen to their feet as he rose), "we must be getting homewards. Monsignor!" (and he beckoned to the two English priests to walk with him.) That walk seemed like a dream. They went leisurely upwards towards the palace, through yew alley after yew alley, French chattering sounding behind them as they went; and the King, still in fluent English, though with an accent that increased as he talked, questioned them courteously as to England, spoke of the disputation of yesterday, discussed frankly enough the situation in Germany, and listened with attention to the remarks of Father Jervis; for Monsignor Masterman was discreetly silent for the most part. It was not until the great doors of the palace flew open at last, and the rows of liveried men showed within, that the King dismissed them. He turned on the steps and gave them his hand to kiss. Then he raised them from their knees with a courteous gesture. "And you go to Rome, you say?" "Almost immediately, sire. We shall be there for SS. Peter and Paul." "Present my homage at the feet of the Holy Father," smiled the King. "You are fortunate indeed. I have not seen His Holiness for three months. Good day--gentlemen." The two passed again in silence down the terraces on their way to the Trianon. "It is amazing," burst out Monsignor suddenly. "And the people. What of them? Is there no resentment?" "Why should there be?" asked the other. "But they are excluded from the palace and the park. It was not so a hundred years ago." "Do you think they are any the less happy?" asked Father Jervis. "My dear Monsignor, surely you know human nature better than that! They have lost the vulgarity of Versailles, and they have regained its royalty. Don't you see that?" "Well!"--Monsignor paused. "It's simply medievalism back again, it seems to me." "Exactly!" said the other. "You have hit it at last. It is medievalism--that is to say, human nature with faith and reverence, and without cant."