The solemnity was less imposing than that of the coronation.  Count d’Haussonville remarked it:  “The military array of so many marshals and generals clad in brilliant uniforms, the pomp of the ceremonies to the slow and majestic sound of the organ filling the vast nave of the church, had succeeded, the preceding day, in redeeming for the spectators, and for me particularly, whatever was a little superannuated in the minute observance of a ritual that had come down from the Middle Ages.  I felt myself, on the contrary, rather surprised than edified by the character, partly religious, partly worldly, but far more worldly than religious, that I witnessed on the morrow.  Most of these gentlemen were known to me.  I had met nearly all of them in my mother’s or grandmother’s salon.  I had not been insensible to the fine air given them by the cordon bleu (worn under the frock coat, usually, or on great occasions over a coat covered with gold lace and shining decorations), the traditional object of ambition for those most in favor at court; but they seemed to me to present a constrained figure, as I saw them soberly ranged in the stalls of the canons, clad in a costume of no particular epoch, wrapped in long mantles of motley color, and following, with a distracted air, the phases of a ceremony to which they were so little accustomed that they were constantly rising, sitting down, and kneeling at the wrong time.”

The receptions took place as follows:  the herald-at-arms of the order called in groups of four the new members from each column, and escorted them to the middle of the sanctuary.  There the four knights, abreast, saluted together, first the altar, then the sovereign.  Then they advanced in line toward the throne, and after a second obeisance, knelt, placed the right hand on the book of the Gospels spread out on the knees of the monarch, and took the oath.  The King decorated each with his own hand.  He passed over their coats, from right to left, the cordon bleu with the cross of gold suspended from it, placed the collar on the mantle, gave a book of hours and a decastich to each one, who kissed his hand, rose, and returned to his place.

By a curious coincidence, M. de Chateaubriand and M. de Villele, two inveterate adversaries, were one in the column on the right, the other in that on the left, and the herald-at-arms of the order called both at once to the foot of the throne.  Listen to the author of the Memoires d’Outre—­Tombe:—­

“I found myself kneeling at the feet of the King at the moment that M. de Villdle was taking the oath.  I exchanged a few words of politeness with my companion in knighthood, apropos of a plume detached from my hat.  We quitted the knees of the King, and all was finished.  The King, having had some trouble in removing his gloves to take my hands in his, had said to me, laughing, ’A gloved cat catches no mice.’  It was thought that he had spoken to me for a long time, and the rumor spread of my nascent favor.  It is likely that Charles X., thinking that the Archbishop had told me of his favorable sentiments, expected a word of thanks and that he was shocked at my silence.”