Philippe, at this request of the queen, made a strong effort, and stopped the sledge¹ abruptly².  
“And now, rest yourself,” said she, coming out of it all trembling. “Indeed, I never could have believed the delight of going so fast, but you have made me quite tremble;” and she took Philippe’s arm to support herself, until a general murmur³ reminded her that she was once more committing a breach⁴ of etiquette⁵.
 
As for Philippe, overwhelmed by this great honor, he felt more ashamed than if his sovereign had insulted him publicly; he lowered his eyes, and his heart beat as though it would burst.
 
The queen, however, withdrew her arm almost immediately, and asked for a seat. They brought her one.
 
“Thanks, M. de Taverney,” said she; then, in a lower tone, “Mon Dieu, how disagreeable it is to be always surrounded by spying fools!”
 
A number of ladies and gentlemen soon crowded round her, and all looked with no little curiosity at Philippe, who, to hide his confusion, stooped to take off his skates, and then fell into the background.
 
After a short time, however, the queen said, “I shall take cold if I sit here, I must take another turn;” and she remounted her sledge.
 
Philippe waited, but in vain, for another order.
 
Twenty gentlemen soon presented themselves, but she said, “No, I thank you, I have my attendants;” and she moved slowly off, while Philippe remained alone.
 
He looked about for St. George, to console him for his defeat by some compliment, but he had received a message from his patron, the duke d’Orleans, and had left the place.
 
Philippe, therefore, rather tired, and half frightened at all that had passed, remained stationary⁶, following with his eyes the queen’s sledge, which was now at some distance, when he felt some one touch him; he turned round and saw his father.
 
The little old man, more shrunk than ever, enveloped⁷ in furs like a Laplander, had touched his son with his elbow, that he might not be obliged to take his hands out of the muff that hung from his neck.
 
“You do not embrace me, my son,” said he.
 
“My dear father, I do it with all my heart.”
 
“And now,” said the old man, “go quickly;” and he pushed him away.
 
“Where do you wish me to go, sir?”
 
“Why, morbleu, over there.”
 
“Where?”
 
“To the queen.”
 
“No, I thank you, father.”
 
“How? No, I thank you! are you mad? You will not go after the queen?”
 
“My dear father, it is impossible!”
 
“Impossible to join the queen, who is expecting you?”
 
“Who is expecting me!”
 
“Yes, who wishes for you.”
 
“Wishes for me? Indeed, father,” added he, coldly, “I think you forget yourself.”
 
“It is astonishing!” said the old man, stamping his foot. “Where on earth do you spring from?”
 
“Monsieur,” said his son, sadly, “you will make me conclude one of two things.”
 
“What?”
 
“Either that you are laughing at me, or else, excuse me, that you are losing your senses.”
 
The old man seized his son by the arm so energetically that he made him start. “Listen, M. Philippe,” said he; “America is, I know, a country a long way from this, and where there is neither king nor queen.”
 
“Nor subjects.”
 
“Nor subjects, M. Philosopher; I do not deny it; that point does not interest me; but what does so is that I fear also to have to come to a conclusion——”
 
“What, father?”
 
“That you are a simpleton, my son; just trouble yourself to look over there.”
 
“Well, sir!”
 
“Well, the queen looks back, and it is the third time she has done so; there! she turns again, and who do you think she is looking for but for you, M. Puritan?”
 
“Well, sir,” said the young man; “if it were true, which it probably is not, that the queen was looking for——”
 
“Oh!” interrupted the old man, angrily, “this fellow is not of my blood; he cannot be a Taverney. Sir, I repeat to you that the queen is looking for you.”
 
“You have good sight, sir,” said his son, dryly.
 
“Come,” said the old man, more gently, and trying to moderate his impatience⁸, “trust my experience: are you, or are you not, a man?”
 
Philippe made no reply.
 
His father ground his teeth with anger, to see himself opposed by this steadfast⁹ will; but making one more effort, “Philippe, my son,” said he, still more gently, “listen to me.”
 
“It seems to me, sir, that I have been doing nothing else for the last quarter of an hour.”
 
“Oh,” thought the old man, “I will draw you down from............