" And he made me a sweeping bow.
"Meaning that I rule the night?" quoth I, and laughed. "The figure
is more playful than exact, for whilst the moon is cold and
cheerless, me you shall find ever warm and cordial. I could have
wished, Monsieur de Chatellerault, that your gracing my board were
due to a circumstance less untoward than His Majesty's displeasure."
"It is not for nothing that they call you the Magnificent," he
answered, with a fresh bow, insensible to the sting in the tail
of my honeyed words.
I laughed, and, setting compliments to rest with that, I led him
to the table.
"Ganymede, a place here for Monsieur le Comte. Gilles, Antoine,
see to Monsieur de Chatellerault. Basile, wine for Monsieur le
Comte. Bestir there!"
In a moment he was become the centre of a very turmoil of attention.
My lacqueys flitted about him buzzing and insistent as bees about
a rose. Would Monsieur taste of this capon a la casserole, or of
this truffled peacock? Would a slice of this juicy ham a l'anglaise
tempt Monsieur le Comte, or would he give himself the pain of
trying this turkey aux olives? Here was a salad whose secret
Monsieur le Marquis's cook had learnt in Italy, and here a
vol-au-vent that was invented by Quelon himself.
Basile urged his wines upon him, accompanied by a page who bore a
silver tray laden with beakers and Wagons. Would Monsieur le Comte
take white Armagnac or red Anjou? This was a Burgundy of which
Monsieur le Marquis thought highly, and this a delicate Lombardy
wine that His Majesty had oft commended.
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