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.
I was both glad and disappointed not to find George in the gown of the Abbe.

I was glad because of the risk he would have taken had he come to England, yet disappointed in missing what would have been the most picturesque, daring personal exploit of English court history.