Ghost. Then, with a nod to his brother and a short word of greeting to
the dauphin and to the Due du Maine, he swung his legs over the side of
the bed and sat in his long silken night-dress, his little white feet
dangling from beneath it--a perilous position for any man to assume,
were it not that he had so heart-felt a sense of his own dignity that he
could not realise that under any circumstances it might be compromised
in the eyes of others. So he sat, the master of France, yet the slave
to every puff of wind, for a wandering draught had set him shivering and
shaking. Monsieur de St. Quentin, the noble barber, flung a purple
dressing-gown over the royal shoulders, and placed a long many-curled
court wig upon his head, while Bontems drew on his red stockings and
laid before him his slippers of embroidered velvet. The monarch thrust
his feet into them, tied his dressing-gown, and passed out to the
fireplace, where he settled himself down in his easy-chair, holding out
his thin delicate hands towards the blazing logs, while the others stood
round in a semicircle, waiting for the _grand lever_ which was to
follow.

"How is this, messieurs?" the king asked suddenly, glancing round him
with a petulant face. "I am conscious of a smell of scent. Surely none
of you would venture to bring perfume into the presence, knowing, as you
must all do, how offensive it is to me."

The little group glanced from one to the other with protestations of
innocence. The faithful Bontems, however, with his stealthy step, had
passed along behind them, and had detected the offender.

"My lord of Toulouse, the smell comes from you," he said.

The Comte de Toulouse, a little ruddy-cheeked lad, flushed up at the
detection.

"If you please, sire, it is possible that Mademoiselle de Grammont may
have wet my coat with her casting-bottle when we all played together at
Marly yesterday," he stammered. "I had not observed it, but if it
offends your Majesty--"

"Take it away! take it away!" cried the king. "Pah! it chokes and
stifles me! Open the lower casement, Bontems. No; never heed, now that
he is gone. Monsieur de St. Quentin, is not this our shaving morning?"

"Yes, sire; all is ready."

"Then why not proceed? It is three minutes after the accustomed time.
To work, sir; and you, Bontems, give word for the _grand lever_."

It was obvious that the king was not in a very good humour that morning.
He darted little quick question