Every one knows this piece of water, which still goes by the same name. An avenue of linden trees skirts each bank, and these avenues were on this day thronged¹ with pedestrians², of all ranks and ages, who had come to enjoy the sight of the sledges³ and the skating. The toilets of the ladies presented a brilliant spectacle of luxury and gaiety, their high coiffures, gay bonnets⁵ with the veils half down, fur mantles⁶, and brilliant silks with deep flounces, were mingled⁷ with the orange or blue coats of the gentlemen.  
Gay lackeys⁸ also, in blue and red, passed among the crowd, looking like poppies and cornflowers blown about by the wind.
 
Now and then a cry of admiration⁹ burst from the crowd, as St. George, the celebrated¹⁰ skater, executed some circle so perfect, that a mathematician¹¹ could scarcely have found a fault in it.
 
While the banks of the lake were thus crowded, the ice itself presented a scene not less gay, and still more animated¹²: sledges flew about in all directions. Several dogs, clothed in embroidered¹³ velvet¹⁴, and with plumes¹⁵ of feathers on their heads, looking like fabulous¹⁶ animals, drew a sledge⁴ in which sat M. de Lauzun, who was wrapped up in a tiger skin. Here you might see a lady masked, doubtless on account of the cold, in some sledge of a quieter character, while a handsome skater, in a velvet riding-coat, hangs over the back, to assist and direct her progress; whatever they may be saying to each other is quite inaudible, amidst this busy hum of voices; but who can blame a rendezvous¹⁷ which takes place in the open air, and under the eyes of all Versailles? and whatever they may be saying matters to no one else: it is evident that in the midst of this crowd their life is an isolated¹⁸ one; they think only of each other.
 
All at once a general movement in the crowd announces that they have recognized the queen, who is approaching the lake. A general cry of “Vive la reine!” is heard, and all endeavor to approach as nearly as possible to the place where she has stationed herself. One person alone does not appear to share this feeling, for on her approach he disappears with all his suite¹⁹ as fast as possible in the opposite direction.
 
“Do you see,” said the Comte d’Artois to the queen, whom he had hastened to join, “how my brother Provence flies from you?”
 
“He fears that I should reproach him.”
 
“Oh, no; it is not that that makes him fly.”
 
“It is his conscience, then.”
 
“Not even that, sister.”
 
“What then?”
 
“I will tell you. He had just heard that M. de Suffren, our glorious commander, will arrive this evening; and as the news is important, he wishes to leave you in ignorance of it.”
 
“But is the Minister of Marine²⁰ ignorant of this arrival?”
 
“Ah, mon Dieu, sister, have you not learned enough of ministers, during the fourteen years you have passed here, as dauphiness and queen, to know that they are always ignorant of precisely²¹ what they ought to know? However, I have told him about this, and he is deeply grateful.”
 
“I should think so,” said the queen.
 
“Yes, and I have need of his

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