In the evening the duchess gave a little ball in her parlor to present Frances to the king and to the queen, if her Majesty should attend, to the Duke of York, and to others living in Whitehall immediately connected with the palace household. I went to the ball early, wishing to be there before Frances arrived, to help her if need be over the untrodden paths of court forms and etiquette. Soon after I entered her Grace's parlor, Mary Hamilton came in with her mother, and I joined them. I should have been glad to see a gleam of joy in Mary's eyes when I approached, but I had to be content with a calm, gracious "I'm glad to see you, baron." Presently the Duke of York arrived with the duchess on his arm, and they took their places at the end of the room opposite the musicians' gallery. Mary and I hastened to kiss their hands, and, withdrawing to a little distance, awaited Frances's arrival. After the others in the room had paid their respects to her Grace, she beckoned me to her chair and said:-- "Your cousin will arrive presently. I have just seen her. Look for a sensation when she comes. She is radiant, though her gown is as simple as a country girl's." "I hear you have brought us a great beauty, baron," remarked the duke. "Yes, your Highness. We who love her think so," I answered. "You'll be wanting to be made an earl for your service in bringing her, eh, baron?" said the duke, laughing. Then bending toward me and whispering: "A word in your ear, Clyde. You may have it if you play your cards right and are persistent in importunity." "No, your Highness. I ask for nothing save favor to my cousin," I replied. "She is like to have enough of that and to spare, without asking, if she is half as beautiful as she is said to be," returned his Grace. "Of that your Highness may now be your own judge," I returned. "Here she comes." At that moment Frances entered on the arm of the Mother of the Maids, and the duke, catching sight of her, exclaimed:-- "God have pity on the other women! Half has not been told, baron. There is no beauty at court compared to hers. Earl? You may be a duke!" While Frances and the Mother were making their way across the room to pay their respects to the duke and the duchess, a buzz of admiration could be heard on every hand, and Mary whispered to me behind her fan:-- "If the king were unmarried, I would wager all I have that your cousin would be our queen within a month." Count Grammont, who was standing behind me, leaned forward and whispered, "Your cousin, baron?" "Yes, count," I answered. "Mon Dieu!" he returned, shrugging his shoulders. "You will soon be a duke. We may not call her the queen of hearts, for already we have one, but surely she is the duchess of hearts. I wish I might present her in Paris. Ah Dieu! She would make quickly my peace with my king!" Poor Grammont's one object in life was that his peace might be made with his king. He lived only in the hope of a recall to Versailles.