the worse for wear.  “But you have been wounded in the leg, monsieur?” observed Lafayette.  “This limb was a little mal traite at Genoa,” returned the marshal, looking down at a leg that had a very game look:  “but you, General, you too, were hurt in America?” “Oh! that was nothing; it happened more than fifty years ago, and then it was in a good cause—­it was the fall and the fracture that made me limp.”  Just at this moment, the great doors flew open, and this quasi republican court standing arrayed before us, the two old soldiers limped forward.

The King stood near the door, dressed as a General of the National Guards, entirely without decorations, and pretty well tricoloured.  The Queen, Madame Adelaide, the Princesses, and several of the children, were a little farther removed, the two former standing in front, and the latter being grouped behind them.  But one or two ladies were present, nor did I see anything at the commencement of the evening of the Ducs d’Orleans and de Nemours.

Lafayette was one of the first that entered, and of course we kept near him.  The King advanced to meet him with an expression of pleasure—­I thought it studied—­but they shook hands quite cordially.  We were then presented by name, and each of us had the honour of shaking hands, if that can be considered an honour, which fell to the share of quite half of those who entered.  The press was so great that there was no opportunity to say anything.  I believe we all met with the usual expressions of welcome, and there the matter ended.

Soon after we approached the Queen, with whom our reception had a more measured manner.  Most of those who entered did little more than make a distant bow to this group, but the Queen manifesting a desire to say something to our party, Mr. M’Lane and myself approached them.  She first addressed my companion in French, a language he did not speak, and I was obliged to act as interpreter.  But the Queen instantly said she understood English, though she spoke it badly, and begged he would address her in his own tongue.  Madame Adelaide seemed more familiar with our language.  But the conversation was necessarily short, and not worth repeating.

Queen Amelie is a woman of a kind, and, I think, intelligent countenance.  She has the Bourbon rather than the Austrian outline of face.  She seemed anxious to please, and in her general air and carriage has some resemblance to the Duchess of St. Leu.[3] She has the reputation of being an excellent wife and mother, and, really, not to fall too precipitately into the vice of a courtier, she appears as if she may well deserve it.  She is thin, but graceful, and I can well imagine that she has been more than pretty in her youth.

[Footnote 3:  Hortense.]

I do not remember a more frank, intelligent, and winning countenance than that of Madame Adelaide, who is the King’s sister.  She has little beauty left, except that of expression; but this must have made her handsome once, as it renders her singularly attractive now.  Her manner was less nervous than that of the Queen, and I should think her mind had more influence over her exterior.