If this had been Versailles, and if George Louis had been the sort who cared, Sophie’s remark would have fallen into the category of "warning shot fired into the shoulder": nonfatal, but enough to render the victim hors de combat . But in fact this was George Louis’s back yard, and he was not one who cared—supposing he even noticed. Sophie’s remark had taken the form of a similitude between wilted blossoms and the decaying gondola. George Louis had difficulty with such constructions, as some men could not see the color green. And further he had, for better or worse, the vis inertiae of an ammunition cart. It took more than warning shots to stop him, on those exceptional occasions when he got moving. Sophie, of all persons in the world, knew this. Why, then, did she bother? For by making the analogy to flowers she was in effect speaking in a secret language that her son could not decypher. Perhaps the Electress was thinking out loud; or perhaps the message was intended for others.