At least, did he ever cease to strive to please his angels?  Now, my children, accept the blessing of your father Philippe, your friend, who, though years may multiply upon him, retains in his heart, none the less, for each and all of you, those sentiments of passion and of admiration which constitute for him his dearest memories!  Ladies, I pray you be seated.  I pray you tarry not too long before proving the judgment of Bechamel in regard to this new vintage of Ai.”

“Ah, your Grace,” exclaimed De Tencin, “were it not Philippe of Orleans, we women might not be apt to sit in peace together.  Yet, as we have earlier proved your hospitality, we may perhaps not scruple to continue.”

Philippe smiled blandly.  The remark was not ill-fitted to the actual case.  Though the regent counted his sweethearts by scores, he dismissed the one with the same air of interest as he welcomed the other, and indeed ended by retaining all as his friends.

“Madame de Tencin, in admiration there can be no degrees,” said he.  “In love there can be no rank.”

“Why, then, do you place as your chief guest this other, this unknown?” pouted Mademoiselle Aisse, as she seated herself, turning upon her host the radiance of her large, dark eyes.  “Is this stranger, then, so passing fair?”

“Not so fair as you, my lovely Haidee, that I may swear, and safely, since she is not yet present.  Yet I announce to you that she is tres interessante, my unknown queen of beauty, my belle sauvage from America.  But see!  Here she comes.  ’Tis time for her to appear, and not keep our guests in waiting.”

There sounded at the back of the great hall the tinkle of a little bell of some soft metal.  It approached, and with it the sweeping stir of heavy silken garb.  The door opened, admitting a still greater blaze of light, and there swept into the hall, as though swimming upon the flood of this added brilliance, a figure striking enough to arouse attention even at that time and place, even among the beauties of the court of France.  There advanced, calm and stately, with the gliding ease of a perfect carriage, the figure of a woman, slender, with full bright eyes and somber hair—­so much might be seen at a glance.  Yet the newcomer left somewhat of query in the mind of womankind accustomed to view in detail any costume.

The stranger was enveloped in a wide and undefining garment, a sweeping robe fit for any duchess of the realm, whose flowing folds showed a magnificent tissue of silver embroidery covered with golden flowers, below the plum-color and green.  The high corsage of the white robe covered the bosom fully, and was caught at the throat with a bunch of blazing jewels.  Under these soft draperies, tinkling in time with the movements of an otherwise noiseless tread, there sounded ever the faint note of the little bell.  At the toe of shoes otherwise silent, there peeped in and out the flash of diamonds, and in the dark masses of her hair, shifting as she trod beneath each new sconce in turn, and catching more and more brilliance as she advanced, there smoldered the flame of a mass of scintillating gems.  A queen’s raiment was that of this unknown beauty, and she herself might have been a queen as she swept down the great hall, scornfully careless of the eyes of those other beauties.