Marquis d'Effiat,
seated in front of his mother, was to assist her in doing the honors of
the table. He was not more than twenty years old, and his countenance was
insignificant; much gravity and distinguished manners proclaimed,
however, a social nature, but nothing more. His young sister of fourteen,
two gentlemen of the province, three young Italian noblemen of the suite
of Marie de Gonzaga (Duchesse de Mantua), a lady-in-waiting, the
governess of the young daughter of the Marechale, and an abbe of the
neighborhood, old and very deaf, composed the assembly. A seat at the
right of the elder son still remained vacant.

The Marechale, before seating herself, made the sign of the cross, and
repeated the Benedicite aloud; every one responded by making the complete
sign, or upon the breast alone. This custom was preserved in many
families in France up to the Revolution of 1789; some still practise it,
but more in the provinces than in Paris, and not without some hesitation
and some preliminary words upon the weather, accompanied by a deprecatory
smile when a stranger is present--for it is too true that virtue also has
its blush.

The Marechale possessed an imposing figure, and her large blue eyes were
remarkably beautiful. She did not appear to have yet attained her
forty-fifth year; but, oppressed with sorrow, she walked slowly and spoke
with difficulty, closing her eyes, and allowing her head to droop for a
moment upon her breast, after she had been obliged to raise her voice. At
such efforts her hand pressed to her bosom showed that she experienced
sharp pain. She saw therefore with satisfaction that the person who was
seated at her left, having at the beginning engrossed the conversation,
without having been requested by any one to talk, persisted with an
imperturbable coolness in engrossing it to the end of the dinner. This
was the old Marechal de Bassompierre; he had preserved with his white
locks an air of youth and vivacity curious to see. His noble and polished
manners showed a certain gallantry, antiquated like his costume--for he
wore a ruff in the fashion of Henri IV, and the slashed sleeves
fashionable in the former reign, an absurdity which was unpardonable in
the eyes of the beaux of the court. This would not have appeared more
singular than anything else at present; but it is admitted that in every
age we laugh at the costume of our fathers, and, except the Orientals, I
know of no people who have not this