“It is a grim jest to give a man an extra arm when he needs a leg, Mr. Jefferson.  Can’t you see to it that I am spared being made a monstrosity of?” Mr. Morris had said, whimsically.  “I can hear Segur or Beaufort now making some damned joke about the unequal distribution of my members,” and Mr. Jefferson had made a formal request to the master of ceremonies to allow Mr. Morris to be presented to His Majesty without a sword.  With that exception, however, he was in full court costume and stumped his way about the Galerie des Glaces with his accustomed savoir faire, attracting almost as much attention and interest as Mr. Jefferson.  That gentleman, in his gray cloth, with some fine Mechlin lace at throat and wrists, and wearing only his order of the Cincinnati, overtopped all the other ambassadors in stately bearing, and looked more noble than did most of the marquises and counts and dukes in their brocades and powdered perukes and glittering decorations—­or, at least, so thought Calvert, who was himself very good to look at in his white broadcloth and flowered satin waistcoat.

The slow progress of the party around the room was not entirely to Mr. Calvert’s liking, for at each step Madame de St. Andre was forced to stop and speak to some eager courtier who presented himself, and, by the time they were half-way through the tour and opposite the Oeil de Beef, such a retinue was following the beauty that he found himself quite in the rear and completely separated from her.

“I feel like the remnant of a beleaguered army cut off from the base of supplies,” said Mr. Morris, smiling at the young man.  He and Mr. Jefferson had dropped behind, having given way to younger and more pressing claimants for Madame de St. Andre’s favor.  “Shall we make a masterly retreat while there is time?”

While he was yet speaking a sudden silence fell upon the company, and Monsieur de Breze, throwing open the doors leading into the Gallery of Mirrors from Louis’s council chamber, announced the King and Queen.  Their Majesties entered immediately, attended at a respectful distance by a small retinue of gentlemen, among whom Calvert recognized the Duc de Broglie, Monsieur de la Luzerne, and Monsieur de Montmorin.  At this near sight of the King—­for he found himself directly opposite the door by which their Majesties entered—­Mr. Calvert felt a shock of surprise.  Surrounded by all the pomp and circumstance of a most imposing ceremonial and seen across the vast Salle des Menus, Louis XVI. had appeared to the young American kingly enough.  But this large, awkward, good-natured-looking man who now made his way quietly and with a shambling gait into the brilliant room, crowded with the most splendid courtiers of Europe, had no trace of majesty about him, unless it was a certain look of benignity and kindliness that shone in the light-blue eyes.  His dress of unexpected simplicity and the unaffected style of his whole deportment were unlocked for by Calvert.  Indeed, but for the splendid decorations he wore and the humility of his courtiers, the young gentleman would have found it hard to believe himself in such exalted company, and thought privately that General Washington or Mr. Jefferson or many another great American whom he had known had a more commanding presence and a more noble countenance than this descendant of kings.