And there came others:  Madame de Prie, later to hold such intimate relations with the fortunes of France in the selection of a future queen for the boy king; De Sabran, plain, gracious and good-natured; Parabere, of delicately oval face, of tiny mouth, of thin high nose and large expressive eyes, her soft hair twined with a deep flushed rose, and over her corsage drooping a continuous garland of magnificent flowers.  Also Caylus the wit, Caylus the friend of Peter the Great, by duty and by devotion a religieuse, but by thought and training a gay woman of the world—­all these butterflies of the bubble house of Paris came swimming in as by right upon this exotic air.

And all of these, as they advanced into the room, paused as they met, coming from the head of the apartment, the imposing figure of their host.  Philippe of Orleans, his powdered wig drawn closely into a half-bag at the nape of the neck, his full eye shining with merriment and good nature, his soft, yet not unmanly figure appearing to good advantage in his well-chosen garments, advances with a certain dignity to meet his guests.  He is garbed in a coat made of watered silk, its straight collar faced with dark-green material edged with gold.  A green and gold shoulder knot sets off the garment, which is provided with large opal buttons set in brilliants, this same adornment appearing on the hilt of his sword, which he lays aside as he approaches.  From the sides of his wig depend two carefully-arranged locks, dusted with a tan-colored powder.  His small-clothes, of lighter hue than the coat, display fitly the proportions of his lower limbs.  The high-heeled shoes blaze with the glare of reflected lights as the diamonds change their angles during the calm advance down the room.

“Welcome, my very dear ladies,” exclaimed Philippe, advancing to the head of the board and at once setting all at ease, if any there needed such encouragement, by the grace and good feeling of his air.  “You do me much honor, ladies.  If I be not careful, the fair Adrienne will become jealous, since I fear you have deserted the pomp of the play full early for the table of Philippe.  Ladies, as you know, I am your devoted slave.  Myself and the Vicomte de Bechamel have labored, seriously labored, for your welfare this day.  I promise you something of the results of those painstaking efforts, which we both hope will not disappoint you.  Meantime, that the moments may not lag, let me recommend, if I am allowed, this new vintage of Ai, which Bechamel advises me we have never yet surpassed in all our efforts.  Madame de Tencin, let me beg of you to be seated close to my arm.  Not upon this side, Mademoiselle Haidee, if you please, for I have been wheedled into promising that station this night to another.  Who is it to be, my dear Caylus?  Ah, that is my secret!  Presently we shall see.  Have I not promised you an occasion this evening?  And did Philippe ever fail in his endeavors to please?