Cavalier put on his handsomest clothes, for the first time in his life perhaps taking trouble with his toilet.  He had fine features, to which his extreme youth, his long fair hair, and the gentle expression of his eyes lent much charm.  Two years of warfare had given him a martial air; in short, even among the most elegant, he might pass as a beau cavalier.

At three o’clock he reached Versailles, and found Chamillard waiting for him; all the courtiers of every rank were in a state of great excitement, for they had learned that the great Louis had expressed a wish to meet the late Cevenol chief, whose name had been pronounced so loud and so often in the mountains of Languedoc that its echoes had resounded in the halls of Versailles.  Cavalier had not been mistaken in thinking that everyone was curious to see him, only as no one yet knew in what light the king regarded him, the courtiers dared not accost him for fear of compromising their dignity; the manner of his reception by His Majesty would regulate the warmth of his reception by everyone else.

Met thus by looks of curiosity and affected silence, the young colonel felt some embarrassment, and this increased when Chamillard, who had accompanied him to his appointed place, left him to rejoin the king.  However, in a few moments he did what embarrassed people so often do, hid his shyness under an air of disdain, and, leaning on the balustrade, crossed his legs and played with the feather of his hat.

When half an hour had passed in this manner, a great commotion was heard:  Cavalier turned in the direction from which it came, and perceived the king just entering the vestibule.  It was the first time he had seen him, but he recognized him at once.  Cavalier’s knees knocked together and his face flushed.

The king mounted the stairs step by step with his usual dignity, stopping from time to time to say a word or make a sign with head or hand.  Behind him, two steps lower, came Chamillard, moving and stopping as the king moved and stopped, and answering the questions which His Majesty put to him in a respectful but formal and precise manner.

Reaching the level on which Cavalier stood, the king stopped under pretext of pointing out to Chamillard a new ceiling which Le Brun had just finished, but really to have a good look at the singular man who had maintained a struggle against two marshals of France and treated with a third on equal terms.  When he had examined him quite at his ease, he turned to Chamillard, pretending he had only just caught sight of the stranger, and asked: 

“Who is this young gentleman?”

“Sire,” answered the minister, stepping forward to present him to the king, “this is Colonel Jean Cavalier.”

“Ah yes,” said the king contemptuously, “the former baker of Anduze!”

And shrugging his shoulders disdainfully, he passed on.