ipse.

She was in the greatest demand at Versailles, too, and danced in all
of the finest ballets given for the king. She had her English
curricle, and with her English _joki_ standing up behind her, was
often seen driving in the Bois de Boulogne. She dressed superbly, and
was altogether glorious. The same felicity seemed to attend Gaston.
The Duc de Richelieu took a violent fancy to him, which, of course,
recommended him to the king. He was of all the royal hunting parties.
The king loved to hear him tell of his adventures in the East, which
were extremely interesting, and Gaston was ever eloquent of tongue. He
was gallant to the ladies, and much run after by them, but I do not
think he ever gave Francezka cause for a moment's jealousy. In short,
if two human beings might be supposed to walk the sunny heights of
joy, it was Francezka and Gaston Cheverny.

Paris was seething during the winter of 1740-41, which preceded the
outbreak of the first Silesian war on the part of the great Frederick
of Prussia against the greater Maria Theresa of Austria-Hungary.
France and Paris were dragged hither and thither, Cardinal Fleury, a
peaceful old man, urging that France remain neutral; Marshal
Belle-Isle, a genius in war, insisting that France must side with
Prussia. Naturally, the military element wanted war, and when it
seemed likely that Cardinal Fleury would keep France at peace, Marshal
Belle-Isle went about storming that this old parson would ruin
everything. It was understood that no active military operations would
take place until the late summer, so the gay dogs of officers and the
merry ladies who danced in the court ballets, and flitted about like
butterflies in the sun, had to make the most of Paris then. The pace
at which they went was killing--and Francezka and Gaston Cheverny were
not the last in this race.

One day, shortly before the carnival, there was a great fete at the
Louvre, and the courtyard was filling up with magnificent coaches. The
finest of all was a gilt coach superbly horsed with six horses, with
four outriders in the crimson and gold of Francezka's liveries. She
sat alone in the coach, waiting her turn to drive up to the great
entrance. She was, as always, dressed with splendor, and as she sat
back in the coach, fanning herself with a beautiful fan that slightly
moved the white plumes of her head-dress, I made my way through the
crush and spoke to her. She had one of her lackeys let down the coa