“How do you do, dear?” said the lady, extending her hand, which Marie-Celeste, her cheeks aflame with the unexpected abruptness of Albert's introduction, took in hers, in a pretty deferential sort of way, as though fully conscious of the dignity of her surroundings. Albert, on the other hand, apparently as much at home in the Queen's private sitting-room as anywhere else in the world, had worked himself way back into a deep-seated, gilded armchair, so that his dusty little feet stuck straight out into the air before him. Meanwhile, the sweet-faced lady had drawn a little _tête-a-tète_ sofa nearer the table, and invited Marie-Celeste to take a seat beside her, and then there followed a few general remarks as to the warmth of the weather and the beauty of the garden, etc., while Marie-Celeste gazed in unconcealed admiration at everything about her.