re than the prelude of the promised
fete, more than charmed all who were there, and who testified their
admiration over and over again, not by voice or gesture, but by deep
silence and rapt attention, those two languages of the courtier which
acknowledge the hand of no master powerful enough to restrain them.

As for the king, his eyes filled with tears; he dared not look at the
queen. Anne of Austria, whose pride, as it ever had been, was superior
to that of any creature breathing, overwhelmed her host by the contempt
with which she treated everything handed to her. The young queen,
kind-hearted by nature and curious by disposition, praised Fouquet, ate
with an exceedingly good appetite, and asked the names of the different
fruits which were placed upon the table. Fouquet replied that he was not
aware of their names. The fruits came from his own stores: he had often
cultivated them himself, having an intimate acquaintance with the
cultivation of exotic fruits and plants. The king felt and appreciated
the delicacy of the reply, but was only the more humiliated at it; he
thought that the queen was a little too familiar in her manners, and
that Anne of Austria resembled Juno a little too much, in being too
proud and haughty; his chief anxiety, however, was himself, that he
might remain cold and distant in his behavior, bordering slightly on the
limits of extreme disdain or of simple admiration.

But Fouquet had foreseen all that; he was, in fact, one of those men who
foresee everything. The king had expressly declared that so long as he
remained under M. Fouquet's roof he did not wish his own different
repasts to be served in accordance with the usual etiquette, and that he
would, consequently, dine with the rest of the society; but by the
thoughtful attention of the surintendant, the king's dinner was served
up separately, if one may so express it, in the middle of the general
table; the dinner, wonderful in every respect, from the dishes of which
it was composed, comprised everything the king liked, and which he
generally preferred to anything else. Louis had no excuse--he, indeed,
who had the keenest appetite in his kingdom--for saying that he was not
hungry. Nay, M. Fouquet even did better still; he certainly, in
obedience to the king's expressed desire, seated himself at the table,
but as soon as the soups were served, he rose and personally waited on
the king, while Madame Fouquet stood behind the queen-mother's arm