At first he paid court to the king, with whom he found favour.  He played high, and rarely lost.  He was soon in so much request that his presence at a dinner or reception had to be secured eight or ten days beforehand.  These unintermitted social duties wearied him, but he acceded to them as inevitable, keeping himself free, however, for supper at home.  The hour of these exquisite little suppers was irregular, because it depended on the course of play; the company was small, but well-chosen.  The pick of the courtiers accepted his invitations, and the celebrated Saint-Evremond, a fellow exile, was always of the party.  De Grammont was his hero, and Saint-Evremond used to make prudent little lectures on his friend’s weakness.

“Here you are,” he would say, “in the most agreeable and fortunate circumstances which a man of your humour could find.  You are the delight of a youthful, lively and gallant court.  The king makes you one of every pleasant party.  You play every night to morning, without knowing what it is to lose.  You spend lavishly, but your fortune is multiplying itself beyond your wildest dreams.  My dear Chevalier, leave well alone.  Don’t renew your ancient follies.  Keep to your gaming; amass money; do not interfere with love.”  And De Grammont would laugh at his mentor as the “Cato of Normandy.”

IV.—­The Chevalier’s Marriage

The Hamilton family lived next to court, in a large house where the most distinguished people in London, and among them the Chevalier de Grammont, were to be found daily.  Everyone agreed that Miss Hamilton deserved a sincere and worthy attachment; her birth was of the highest and her charms were universally acknowledged.  Her figure was beautiful, every movement was gracious, and the ladies of the court were led by her taste in dress and in coiffure.  Affecting neither vivacity nor deliberation in speech, she said as much as was needed, and no more.  After seeing her, the Chevalier wasted no more time elsewhere.

The English court was at this time seething with amorous intrigues, and the Chevalier and his friends were involved in many a risky adventure.  The days were spent in hunting, the nights in dancing and at play.  One of the most splendid masquerades was devised by the queen herself.  In this spectacle, each dancer was to represent a particular nation; and you may imagine that the tailors and dressmakers were kept busy for many days.  During these preparations, Miss Hamilton took a fancy to ridicule two very pushing ladies of the court.

Lady Muskerry, like most great heiresses, was without physical endowments.  She was short, stout, and lame, and her features were disagreeable; but she was the victim of a passion for dress and for dancing.  The queen, in her kindness to the public, never omitted to make Lady Muskerry dance at a court ball; but it was impossible to introduce her into a superb pageant such as the projected masquerade.