chariot drawn by six horses with white and gold harness.
Seated in this open carriage, as though upon a throne, and
beneath a parasol of embroidered silk, fringed with
feathers, sat the young and lovely princess, on whose
beaming face were reflected the softened rose-tints which
suited her delicate skin to perfection. Monsieur, on
reaching the carriage, was struck by her beauty; he showed
his admiration in so marked a manner that the Chevalier de
Lorraine shrugged his shoulders as he listened to his
compliments, while Buckingham and De Guiche were almost
heart-broken. After the usual courtesies had been rendered,
and the ceremony completed, the procession slowly resumed
the road to Paris. The presentations had been carelessly
made, and Buckingham, with the rest of the English
gentlemen, had been introduced to Monsieur, from whom they
had received but very indifferent attention. But, during
their progress, as he observed that the duke devoted himself
with his accustomed earnestness to the carriage-door, he
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asked the Chevalier de Lorraine, his inseparable companion,
“Who is that cavalier?”
“He was presented to your highness a short while ago; it is
the handsome Duke of Buckingham.”
“Ah, yes, I remember.”
“Madame’s knight,” added the favorite, with an inflection of
the voice which envious minds can alone give to the simplest
phrases.
“What do you say?” replied the prince.
“I said `Madame’s knight.'”
“Has she a recognized knight, then?”
“One would think you can judge of that for yourself; look,
only, how they are laughing and flirting. All three of
them.”
“What do you mean by all three?”
“Do you not see that De Guiche is one of the party?”
“Yes, I see. But what does that prove?”
“That Madame has two admirers instead of one.”
“Thou poison the simplest thing!”
“I poison nothing. Ah! your royal highness’s mind is
perverted. The honors of the kingdom of France are being
paid to your wife and you are not satisfied.”
The Duke of Orleans dreaded the satirical humor of the
Chevalier de Lorraine whenever it reached a certain degree
of bitterness, and he changed the conversation abruptly.
“The princess is pretty,” said he, very negligently, as if
he were speaking of a stranger.
“Yes,” replied the chevalier, in the same tone.
“You say `yes’ like a `no.’ She has very beautiful black
eyes.”
“Yes, but small.”
“That is so, but they are brilliant. She is tall, and of a
good figure.”
“I fancy she stoops a little, my lord?”
“I do not deny it. She has a noble appearance.”
“Yes, but her face is thin.”
“I thought her teeth beautiful.”
“They can easily be seen, for her mouth is large enough.
Decidedly, I was wrong, my lord; you are certainly handsomer
than your wife.”
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“But do you think me as handsome as Buckingham?”
“Certainly, and he thinks so, too; for look, my lord, he is
redoubling his attentions to Madame to prevent your effacing
the impression he has made.”
Monsieur made a movement of impatience, but as he noticed a
smile of triumph pass across the chevalier’s lips, he drew
up his horse to a foot-pace. “Why,” said he, “should I
occupy myself any longer about my cousin? Do I not already
know her? Were we not brought up together? Did I not see her
at the Louvre when she was quite a child?”
“A great change has taken place in her since then, prince.
At the period you allude to, she was somewhat less
brilliant, and scarcely so proud, either. One evening,
particularly, you may remember, my lord, the king refused to
dance with her, because he thought her plain and badly
dressed!”
These words made the Duke of Orleans frown. It was by no
means flattering for him to marry a princess of whom, when
young, the king had not thought much. He would probably have
retorted, but at this moment De Guiche quitted the carriage
to join the prince. He had remarked the prince and the
chevalier together, and full of anxious attention he seemed
to try and guess the nature of the remarks which they had
just exchanged. The chevalier, whether he had some