he reprieve of la Tour, which had meanwhile reached
him, sank deeper into his heart than the whole round of his pleasures,
and made him anxious for the moment when he might again meet her.

The society in which he found himself flying, like one of a tribe of
bright-plumaged birds in a grove full of song, centred around the Queen.
Marie Antoinette constantly sought refuge with her intimate circle from
people and Court at the gardens and dairy of the Little Trianon, in the
Park of Versailles, where it was understood that ceremony was banished
and the romps and pleasures of country life were in order.

In the month of June Lecour received a command to a private picnic here.
It was the highest "honour" he had as yet attained. As a Canadian he
had paid his respects in the beginning to the Count de Vaudreuil. The
latter was the leader in the pastimes of the Queen's circle, a handsome
and accomplished man, and one of social boldness as well as polish.
Though in his successes at Court he affected to forget that he was of
Canadian extraction, he yet evinced an interest in Lecour on that
account and showed courtesy to him. When the Count therefore one day
heard the Queen refer with favour to the graceful Guardsman, he added
him to the next list of invitations.

The guests, about forty, all approved by Marie Antoinette, included
members of both the rival sets at Court. The young Duchess of Polignac,
a simple, pleasant woman whom the liking of the Queen had alone raised
to importance, was there with several of her connections and friends.
The Noailles family, with its haughty alliances, its long-standing
greatness, and its contempt for those new people the Polignacs, was to
be chiefly represented by the amiable young Duchess of Mouchy, who came
late.

No picnic could have been more free and easy. The Queen herself looked a
Venus-like dairymaid in straw hat and flowered skirt, and it was
announced that the game of the afternoon should be that called
"Descampativos." The guests trooped like children from the Little
Trianon to a sequestered spot where lofty woods combined to cast a Druid
shade upon the lawn. Here Vaudreuil was elected high priest.

Assuming a white robe and mock-heroic solemnity, and standing out in the
centre of the grass, he sang forth in a strikingly rich voice--

"Let us raise an altar to Venus the goddess of these groves."

Four attendants, moving quickly forward in response, carrying squares of
turf, pile