"Some of them are pretty."

"Don't say that too loud, monsieur my nephew; you will drive
them wild."

"Stop a bit, stop a bit, dear aunt!" said the king, smiling;
"for the second part of my sentence will serve as a
corrective to the first. Well, my dear aunt, some of them
appear old and others ugly, thanks to their ten-year-old
fashions."

"But, sire, Blois is only five days, journey from Paris."

"Yes, that is it," said the king: "two years behind for each
day."

"Indeed! do you really think so? Well, that is strange! It
never struck me."

"Now, look, aunt," said Louis XIV., drawing still nearer to
Mazarin, under the pretext of gaining a better point of
view, "look at that simple white dress by the side of those
antiquated specimens of finery, and those pretentious
coiffures. She is probably one of my mother's maids of
honor, though I don't know her."

"Ah! ah! my dear nephew!" replied Madame, laughing, "permit
me to tell you that your divinatory science is at fault for
once. The young lady you honor with your praise is not a
Parisian, but a Blaisoise."