Mademoiselle also came, out of a sort of good-natured curiosity, but the Prince of Wales shook his head.

‘I have no mind to show Madame the value of a tabouret,’ he said.  ’Believe me, Meg, I may sit on such an eminence in the august presence of my mother and my regent aunt, but if my small cousin, the Most Christian King, should enter, I must be dethroned, and a succession of bows must ensue before we can either of us be seated.  I always fear that I shall some day break out with the speech of King Lear’s fool:  ‘Cry you mercy, I took you for a joint stool.’’

This passed while I, who came in the rear of the procession, was waiting to move on, and I believe Queen Henrietta was descanting to her niece on the blessing that her son’s high spirits never failed him through all their misfortunes.

However, in due time we reached the apartments of the Queen-Regent, the way lined with guards, servants, and splendid gentlemen, who all either presented arms or bowed as our English Queen passed along, with an easy, frank majesty about her that bespoke her a daughter of the place, and at home there.  But what gave me the most courage was that as the door of her bedroom was opened to admit Queen Henrietta, Mademoiselle, my mother, and myself, I saw a black cassock, and a face I knew again as that of the Holy Father Vincent de Paul, who had so much impressed me, and had first given me comfort.

It was a magnificent room, and more magnificent bed, and sitting up among her lace and cambric pillows and coverlets was Queen Anne of Austria, in a rich white lace cap and bedgown that set off her smooth, fair, plump beauty, and exquisite hands and arms.  Ladies stood round the bed.  I did not then see who any of them were, for this was the crisis of my fate, and my heart beat and my eyes swam with anxiety.  Queen Henrietta made her low reverence, as of course we did, and some words of sisterly greeting ensued, after which the English queen said: 

’My sister, I have made you this early visit to bring you my little suppliant.  Allow me to present to your Majesty, Madame la Vicomtesse de Bellaise, who is sincerely sorry to have offended you.’

(That was true; I was sincerely sorry that what I had done could offend.)

My kind godmother went on to that I had offended only out of ignorance of the rights of seigneurs, and from my charitable impulses, of which she knew that her Majesty would approve, glancing significantly towards Father Vincent as she did so.  She was sure, she added, that Her Majesty’s tenderness of heart must sympathise with a young widow, whose husband had fallen in the service of the King, and who had an only son to bring up.  I felt the Regent’s beautiful blue eyes scanning me, but it was not unkindly, though she said: 

’How is this, Madame?  I hear that you have taught the peasants to complain of the seigniorial rights, and to expect to have the corvee and all other dues remitted.’