I was on hand early at De Grammont’s supper, but found several gentlemen ahead of me, awaiting, with the count in his parlor, the arrival of the king.  Soon after I entered the room, De Grammont presented me to the Abbe.  I was convinced at once that he was not George Hamilton.  His beard, worn a la Richelieu,—­a mustache and a tuft on the chin,—­was snow white, and his hair, which was thin, hung in long white waves almost to his shoulders.  He walked with a stoop and wore spectacles, the glasses of which were slightly colored.  Being an ecclesiastic, though not a priest, he wore no wig; but he was of the Order of the Cordon Bleu, and wore, in addition to his badge and blue ribbon, a sword beneath his long coat.  It was the first time I had ever seen an ecclesiastic wearing a sword, though it has since become common in France, where there are many “Abbes” who are neither priests nor in orders.

The Abbe spoke poor English, therefore the conversation was carried on in French, much to the annoyance of some of our guests, who pretended to a greater knowledge of that language than they possessed.

Soon after my presentation to the Abbe, the king arrived, and we all went out to the supper table, where the Abbe’s chair was on the king’s right, with De Grammont on his Majesty’s left.  After the king had been seated a moment, he rose and asked us to be seated; so we took our places, all save the king dropping our hats beside us on the floor because of his Majesty’s presence.

I sat next to De Grammont, almost opposite the Abbe, and had a good opportunity to observe the French emissary.  The king’s French was excellent, and the dinner conversation was carried on largely between him and the Abbe.  All subjects were discussed, but the Abbe adroitly avoided Dunkirk and seemed to prefer talking on religious and philosophical topics, in which he took the liberty to disagree with the king in many respects, politely though positively.

I listened attentively, hoping that some tone of the Abbe’s voice, a pose or a gesture, might reveal George Hamilton, if it were he, in the most excellent disguise I had ever seen.  But nothing of the sort occurred, and before the dinner was over, I was still more convinced that whoever the Abbe du Boise might be, he was not Hamilton.

After dinner came the heavy wines, of which the Abbe did not partake, and of which De Grammont and I drank sparingly.  All the others, including the king, were gloriously drunk long before the night was over.

While smoking our pipes, the king, who was eager to get his hands on French money, told the Abbe that he hoped to see him, with his credentials, at Whitehall on the second morning following at ten o’clock, and the Abbe said he would leave his credentials with my Lord Clarendon, and would be at Whitehall at the hour suggested by the king, for the purpose of making the French king’s offer.

Most of the guests went home between two men, very late at night, but fortunately I was able to walk home by myself.