"He is a shameless man!" muttered the queen, with pale cheeks and
flashing eyes, as she followed him with her looks.

"He is ambitious," whispered Besenval; "he implores your majesty in
this way, and risks his life and his office, in the hope of being
received into the court society."

"No, no," answered Marie Antoinette, eagerly; "there is nothing in
me that attracts him. The king's aunts have set him against me, and
this is a new way which their tender care has conjured up to
irritate me, and make me sick.

Yet let us leave this, baron. Let us forget this folly, and only
remember that we are in Trianon. See, we are now entering my dear
English garden. Oh, look around you, baron, and then tell me is it
not beautiful here, and have I not reason to be proud of what I have
called here into being?"

While thus speaking, the queen advanced with eager, flying steps to
the exquisite beds of flowers which beautifully variegated the
surface of the English garden.

It was in very truth the creation of the queen, this English garden,
and it formed a striking contrast to the solemn, stately hedges, the
straight alleys, the regular flower beds, the carefully walled pools
and brooks, which were habitual in the gardens of Versailles and
Trianon. In the English garden every thing was cosy and natural. The
waters foamed here, and there they gathered themselves together and
stood still; here and there were plants which grew just where the
wind had scattered the seed. Hundreds of the finest trees--willows,