The king's French was
excellent, and the dinner conversation was carried on largely between him
and the Abbe. All subjects were discussed, but the Abbe adroitly avoided
Dunkirk and seemed to prefer talking on religious and philosophical
topics, in which he took the liberty to disagree with the king in many
respects, politely though positively.
I listened attentively, hoping that some tone of the Abbe's voice, a pose
or a gesture, might reveal George Hamilton, if it were he, in the most
excellent disguise I had ever seen. But nothing of the sort occurred, and
before the dinner was over, I was still more convinced that whoever the
Abbe du Boise might be, he was not Hamilton.
After dinner came the heavy wines, of which the Abbe did not partake, and
of which De Grammont and I drank sparingly. All the others, including the
king, were gloriously drunk long before the night was over.
While smoking our pipes, the king, who was eager to get his hands
on French money, told the Abbe that he hoped to see him, with his
credentials, at Whitehall on the second morning following at ten o'clock,
and the Abbe said he would leave his credentials with my Lord Clarendon,
and would be at Whitehall at the hour suggested by the king, for the
purpose of making the French king's offer.
Most of the guests went home between two men, very late at night, but
fortunately I was able to walk home by myself.
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