The Prime Minister was seen walking in the direction of the room where the Privy Council usually met. Oddly enough, he had a little boy perched on his shoulders. He was a handsome little fellow of about two years of age. He had a shock of blonde hair on his head which was clearly visible as he was beneath the age when a wig was required for all men and women at court. (For those interested, nine years was the requisite age when courtiers were expected to wear wigs.)
“I wonder who the parents of that little brat are?” Said one snarky courtier.
Overhearing the remark, the Prime Minister turned on the man. “How dare you call my youngest child ‘a brat!’ I’m his father. That’s all you need to know. May I introduce you to the marquis de Mazon?” He pulled the boy from his shoulders and held him inches from the courtier’s face. “I believe my son takes precedence over you. Now kiss his hand!”
Horrified at the prospect of being forced to kiss the little boy’s (clearly unwashed) hand, the courtier in question fled the gallery. Down the hall he ran as fast as is high-heeled shoes would allow. Outraged, the Prime Minister pursued the man.
“Wait a minute, you!” He shouted. “I’m not done with you!” In response to the melodrama playing out before him, the young marquis began to wail piteously. “Now look what you’ve done!” Shouted the furious Prime Minister.
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