Twice he had seen him yesterday--yet those occasions had been public.

But to see the King now, at ease amongst his friends, yet still royally dressed in his brilliant blue suit and feathered hat, with his tall cane--to see the whole company, gay and brilliant, talking and laughing, taking their pleasure in the air before breakfast--the whole thing somehow brought home to him the reality of what appeared to him as a change, more than had all the pomps and glories of the day before.

Splendour no longer seemed ceremonial, but natural.
Monsignor Allet was explaining something in rapid French in the King's ear, and as the two came up, the face that listened smiled suddenly with intelligence.
"I give you welcome," he said in excellent English.

"Come, gentlemen" (he turned to the others, who had risen to their feet as he rose), "we must be getting homewards.

Monsignor!" (and he beckoned to the two English priests to walk with him.) That walk seemed like a dream.
They went leisurely upwards towards the palace, through yew alley after yew alley, French chattering sounding behind them as they went; and the King, still in fluent English, though with an accent that increased as he talked, questioned them courteously as to England, spoke of the disputation of yesterday, discussed frankly enough the situation in Germany, and listened with attention to the remarks of Father Jervis; for Monsignor Masterman was discreetly silent for the most part.
It was not until the great doors of the palace flew open at last, and the rows of liveried men showed within, that the King dismissed them.