I will present to you a whole bouquet. I give you
Little Trianon.' [Footnote: The very words of the king.--See
"Memoire de Marquis de Crequy," vol. iv.] My dear sire! you have
given me not only a bouquet of flowers, but a bouquet of pleasant
hours, of happy years, for which I thank you, and you alone."
"And may this bouquet never wither, Marie!" said the king, laying
his hand as if in blessing on the head of his wife, and raising his
good, blue eyes with a pious and prayerful look. "But, my good
woman," said he then, after a little pause, "you quite let me forget
the part I have to play, and the mill wheel is standing still again,
since the miller is not there. It is, besides, in wretched order,
and it is full needful that I practise my art of black smith here a
little, and put better screws and springs in the machine. But
listen! what kind of song is that without?"
"Those are the peasants greeting us with their singing," said the
queen, smiling. "Come, Mr. Miller, let us show ourselves to them."
She drew the king out upon the small staircase. Directly at the foot
of it stood the king's two brothers, the Counts de Provence and
Artois, as chief official and schoolmaster, and behind them the
duchesses and princesses, dukes and counts, arrayed as peasants. In
united chorus they greeted the mistress and the miller:
"Oil peut-on etre mieux, Qu'au seiu de sa famille?"
The queen smiled, and yet tears glittered in her eyes, tears of joy.
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