The Marquis took lodgings the following week in the little town that centred round the palace and park of Versailles, and there met his former colonel, M. de Biron. The young Duke was amiable, if cynical, at Luc’s persistence in endeavouring to enter politics; he came to his rooms and attempted to enlighten him as to the state of the Court and the characters of the men who guided it. Luc smiled and forgot what he said as soon as the words were spoken; he knew M. de Biron was shallow, and he gave little weight to his impressions of men or affairs. M. de Caumont had offered to present him to the King, but had not yet arrived at Versailles; and M. de Biron urged him not to wait, but to at once attend His Majesty. Luc’s strict code of courtesy would not permit him to slight M. de Caumont by ignoring the introduction offered and accepted; but when M. de Biron brought him an invitation for one of the fête days on which the King would not be present, he decided to go, with some bold idea under his shy manner of meeting M. Amelot and speaking to him directly. He was now corresponding regularly with M. de Voltaire, and though the subject of their letters was still the respective merits of Corneille and Racine, Luc drew from the great man’s words a far wider inspiration than mere enthusiasm for the famous poets. He had always--almost without knowing it--been fond of letters, and now, in his unavoidable leisure, he had begun writing down his thoughts, and hopes, and aspirations. The very day that he went for the first time to the palace he had put the last sentence to a paper he had written on the glorious and beloved young King. Since he had left Aix his desire for meditation had increased and emphasized his shyness, which was almost sufficient to render him awkward despite his native grace and breeding. Certainly his first experiences of the château were not pleasant to him; the gorgeous park was too vast, too full of people. He felt too utterly uncongenial to their obvious gaiety. Not that his temper or his mood was gloomy, or that he was incapable of the exquisite pleasures of youth and carelessness--there was probably no one there who could have brought a keener delight to the enjoyment of the fair things of life--but Luc had too fine a nature to be satisfied by sensation at second hand. Because every one else affected light-heartedness, because the coloured lamps were lit in the trees, because all were rich and presumably happy, his soul could not keep festival. M. de Biron soon left him. He felt as lonely as he had done when standing on the Pont Neuf, and as serene. As soon as he could disengage himself from the crowd he made his way from the terraces, arbours, and fountains in front of the great château, and turned down one of the magnificent alleys that opened mysteriously and alluring into dusky vistas lit only by occasional beams from the young moon.