'Ah! You English make good spouses,' she said, with a smile. 'Ever

satisfied with home! But, your Excellency,' added she, turning to

Walsingham, 'what stones would best please my good sister for the

setting of the jewel my son would send her with his portrait? He

is all for emeralds, for the hue of hope; but I call it the colour

of jealousy.' Walsingham made a sign that Berenger had better retreat from

hearing the solemn coquetting carried on by the maiden Queen

through her gravest ambassadors. He fell back, and remained

watching the brilliant throng, trying in vain to discover the

bright merry eyes and velvet cheek he remembered of old. Presently

a kind salutation interrupted him, and a gentleman who perceived

him to be a stranger began to try to set him at ease, pointed out

to him the handsome, foppishly-dressed Duke of Anjou, and his ugly,

spiteful little brother of Alengon, then designated as Queen

Elizabeth's future husband, who was saying something to a lady that

made her colour and bite her lips. 'Is that the younger Queen?'

asked Berenger, as his eye fell on a sallow, dark-complexioned,

sad-looking little creature in deep mourning, and with three or

four such stately-looking, black-robed, Spanish-looking duennas

round her as to prove her to be a person of high consequence.

'That? Oh no; that is Madame Catherine of Navarre, who has resided

here ever since her mother's death, awaiting her brother, our royal

bridegroom. See, here is the bride, Madame Marguerite, conversing

with M. de Guise.' Berenger paid but little heed to Marguerite's showy but already

rather coarse beauty, and still asked where was the young Queen

Elizabeth of Austria. She was unwell, and not in presence. 'Ah!

then,' he said, 'her ladies will not be here.'

'That is not certain. Are you wishing to see any one of them?'

'I would like to see----' He could not help colouring till his

cheeks rivaled the colour of his sword-knot. 'I want just to know

if she is here. I know not if she be called Madame or Mademoiselle

de Ribaumont.'

'The fair Ribaumont! Assuredly; see, she is looking at you. Shall

I present you?'

A pair of exceedingly brilliant dark eyes were fixed on Berenger

with a sort of haughty curiosity and half-recognition. The face

was handsome and brilliant, but he felt indignant at not perceiving

a particle of a blush at encountering him, indeed rather a look of

amusement at the deep glow which his fair complexion rendered so

apparent. He would fain have escaped from so public an interview,

but her eye was upon him, and there was no avoiding the meeting.

As he moved nearer he saw what a beautiful person she was, her rich

primrose-coloured dress setting off her brunette complexion and her

stately presence. She looked older than he had expected; but this

was a hotbed where every one grew up early, and the expression and

manner made him feel that an old intimacy was here renewed, and

that they were no strangers.




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