LETTER XIX

It was now three o'clock in the afternoon, and no one present
had yet dined. The Queen my mother was desirous that we should
eat together, and, after dinner, she ordered my brother and me
to change our dress (as the clothes we had on were suitable only
to our late melancholy situation) and come to the King's supper
and ball. We complied with her orders as far as a change of dress,
but our countenances still retained the impressions of grief
and resentment which we inwardly felt.

I must inform you that when the tragi-comedy I have given you
an account of was over, the Queen my mother turned round to the
Chevalier de Seurre, whom she recommended to my brother to sleep
in his bedchamber, and in whose conversation she sometimes took
delight because he was a man of some humour, but rather inclined
to be cynical.

"Well," said she, "M. de Seurre, what do you think of all this?"

"Madame, I think there is too much of it for earnest, and not
enough for jest."

Then addressing himself to me, he said, but not loud enough for
the Queen to hear him: "I do not believe all is over yet; I am
very much mistaken if this young man" (meaning my brother) "rests
satisfied with this."