At this bravado, M. de Richelieu and the unknown burst out laughing, and the Marquis began to feel very much irritated, when St. Clair, who had not dismounted from the horse without difficulty, approached, hat in hand, and said to the gentleman clothed in gray: "Sire, nothing can be done with that mare." "The King!" cried the Marquis in confusion, and he knelt and bowed his head with a repentant air. "By St. Louis, my young friend," said Louis XV., smiling, "I have seen the time when you would remind us that all gentlemen are our peers, and that in the old times a chevalier could cross lances with a king." "Ah, Sire! pardon . . . pardon." . . . "Come! rise, rise, my gentle knight," . . . and by a movement full of that majestic grace that this most amiable and most graceful of kings exhibited, in even the most trifling acts, he touched slightly, with the tip of his finger, Létorière's cheek, who, still on his knee, kissed this beautiful royal hand with profound veneration. Létorière arose, his forehead suffused with a charming blush, his beautiful black eyes moist with tears, so profoundly was he touched with the ineffable kindness of his sovereign. This emotion, so pure, so youthful and so naïve, struck Louis XV. delightfully. The most adroit flattery could not have effected this favorable impression. "What is your name, my child?" he asked, regarding the Marquis with interest. "Charles-Louis de Vighan, Marquis of Létorière, Sire." "You are from Xaintonge," said the king, who knew wonderfully well the genealogy of his nobility. "But you have deposited your titles," added he. "You ought to be presented to me. Why have you not been?" "Sire, I await the return of M. the Count of Appreville, my relative, to have that honor." . . . "Marshal Richelieu, will you act as sponsor?" said the king, addressing the duke, who replied by a respectful gesture. "That's right!" said the king. . . . "I do not forget, my child, that you have almost censured St. Clair . . . you must make him some amends. . . . Are you bold enough to encounter Barbara?" And the king pointed to the mare, who, held by the bridle, still kicked and pranced, notwithstanding the threats and caresses of the groom. "Are you not afraid of this fiery beast?" "I fear but one thing, Sire: it is to show myself unworthy of the eminent grace with which the king deigns to honor me in ordering me to mount a horse in his presence." "Is he not charming? He answers with such perfect grace . . . with such exquisite tact," . . . said the king to M. de Richelieu, while Létorière, his heart palpitating with emotion, approached the redoubtable Barbara. "The king has told me sometimes that I'm a connoisseur of faces. Yes, yes, I can predict to the king that before six months this young falcon will have taken flight,--and then, beware of him;--there'll be a great flutter among the doves, I'll answer for it."