her with this secret thought, and listened to her innocent conversation with a jealous, careful curiosity which cannot be deceived. I note that she despises youthful homage, spurns free gallantry, loathes unseemly discourse; and when I have seen her bestow the guerdon of prowess in the lists, she has offered her pretty blushing cheek to the victor with a modest shamefacedness and dignified behaviour which well became her noble birth and virtuous breeding. Her great love for the King, begun in childhood, will turn, if she is his wife, not so much into a flower of passion, but rather into the rich fruit of wifely affection. Ah, fair daughter, when in the night-watches I lie awake, forecasting my lord's grief when he is reft of me, ever I see before me rise, like a consoling vision, the sweet grave visage of Jeanne de Laval, which never laughs and rarely smiles, but, like the sober shine of the moon, doth shed light and breathe peace. I shall die the happier for this hope.' 'Nay, live the longer for it,' I answered smiling, and, with a tender kiss, parted from her. I pray thee, dear Marguerite, when hath conjugal love been more disinterested than in this noble woman's heart?-when evinced by a more forecasting solicitude and unjealous regard for her lord's happiness? I fear my love for Ferry is a baser one; for if I was to die, I should mislike him to be too quickly consoled, and I warrant thee I should grievously jalouse the lady who should replace me.

"Since this discourse with our mother the Queen, I have taken more heed of the singular affection of the demoiselle Jeanne for the King. If one says: The Comte de St. Pol is a valiant lord,' 'Passably so,' she answers; but not so brave as the King of Sicily.' Or if the Comte de Nevers' martial aspect is praised, she replies, 'He hath, in sooth, a fine carriage; but what is it in comparison with King René's?' If Poton de Saintrailles breaketh a lance with wondrous skill, she affirms Monseigneur the King can do it better; if any one exclaims (and I warrant thee this is a very frequent speech in the mouths of princes and ladies), 'Is there a knight, lord, or gentilhomme which, for strength of arm, greatness of soul, beauty of face and person, can be likened to Ferry de Lorraine ?'-then Mademoiselle de Laval says, ' He resembles his father-in-law, whom few can equal, none excel.' If the talk is of poesy, and others commend Monseigneur Charles d'Orléans or Messire Chastelain's verses, she shakes her head, and maintains that for her part she sees more philosophy, cunning, and beauty in the romance of De très douce Mercy au Coeur d'Amour épris than in any other poem in the world. She thinks Messire Van Eycke is a poorer limner than his pupil, and Antoine de la Salle a writer of less wit than his kingly master. When the Duchesse d'Alençon called Alain Chartier 'le bien disant,' the petite demoiselle whispered in mine ear, 'I know a meilleur disant than even Messire Alain.'

"Now will it please thee to learn the style and fashion of this present passage of arms, the most quaint, dainty, and pleasurable that ever has been witnessed. Instead of the pavillon de joyeuse garde, all decked with cloth-of-gold and flags, there is at one end of the field a green flowery cabin, wherein a fair shepherdess tends her

lambs. Instead of the haute et puissante demoiselle de Laval which guerdoned the victors at Saumur, with two lions chained by her side, here is the gentle pastourelle Jeanne, dressed in a gray kirtle, wearing on her fair hair a crown of roses, and holding in her hand a little silver crook. Philibert de Laigues and Philippe de Lenoncourt, her two brave champions and comely shepherds stand by her side. The knights which enter the lists touch with their swords the black and white shields nigh to the cabin, and this is the signal of defiance. The victor's prize is a posy and a kiss from the fair shepherdess; but other gifts she also bestows. On the first day Pierre Carrion, the Sire de Beauveau, Tanneguy du Chatel, and others, contended with much skill and valiant ardour; but Ferry won the guerdon, and on my finger I wear the victor's ring. When Jeanne presented it to him, he gave her in return the rich housings of his steed. Messire Honoré de Berre, a very learned and honourable gentleman of Aix, but little used to these combats, also entered the lists. The King our father strove to dissuade him therefrom, but nothing else would serve him; and, lo and behold, before he ever encountered his adversary he rolled off his horse, which swerved, and his great weight and heavy armour impeded his rising, which caused much diversion amongst the spectators. Louis de Beauveau says that even the grave Pastourelle Jeanne laughed; which, if true, should be almost a miracle. Gaspard de Cossa for the first time tilted to-day. The King, who singularly affections this youth, leaving his royal seat, descended into the field to minister advice to his inexperience, and furnish him with new lances when his own were split. He thus often assists young knights in their first essays; and these marks of goodness do marvellously endear his majesty to his subjects. When Messire Duguesclin was a prisoner, he said, 'There is not one spinner in France but would spin to ransom me.' And I say, There is not a woman or a man in his dominions but would die for King René. I hope there is also not an Englishman that would not die for thee, sweet sister.

"Well, in the evenings pleasant poetry and gay music beguile the swiftly flying hours. Each knight and lady is constrained to furnish a poem or a song; and some steal away in the day to search in books for fair pearls of harmonious lore. If any one doth possess a copy of the King's verse-book, or of the Duke of Orléans' lays, or Alain Chartier's, or Messire Chastelain's, or Olivier de la Marche's poems, then he is envied. Such as possess the gift of poesy compose little pieces themselves, to the great content of the company. would fain send thee some of these witty flowrets; but be content, madame, with this little conceit in your own praise:

'All other flowrets drop their leaves
When blows the cold east wind;
But steadfast daisies, pure and white,
Still in their place you find.'

I

Now, who think you wrote this quatrain? Thereby hangs a little tale, which your majesty shall hear. The King our father said yes

ter eve that the poem the most to his liking which had yet been recited was the lay of Messire Olivier de la Marche, called The Knight's Vesture for his Lady, which runneth thus:

Lady, I am no limner;
My hand cannot portray
The beauty of thy face;
But my pen shall essay
To frame for thee a vesture
So perfect, so complete,
So graceful and so fine,

So virtuous and so sweet,

That in the eyes of God most high,
And men also, I ween,

This habit shall surpass

The rarest ever seen.

Fair honesty shall be thy smock;
Thy slippers humble thoughts;
Thy shoes a spotless conscience;
Thy garters firm resolves;
Thy pincushion meek patience;
Thy rings nobility;

Thy knife impartial justice;

Thy kerchief modest haviour;

Thy ribbon duteous fear of God;

Thy comb contrition keen;

Thy stay-lace perfect charity;

Thy kirtle daily prayer;

And last of all thy mirror,

The wholesome thought of death.

"When the King exceedingly commended this piece of verse, Ferry said, 'I warrant your majesty I can write in one minute four lines which will please you more than Messire Olivier's ingenious poem.'

"The King smilingly defied him to do it. Then Ferry, holding the paper on his knee, penned in less than a minute the lines touching the steadfast daisy, and gave them to the King, who, when he read them, said quickly, with tears in his eyes, Fair son, je n'en peux mais. You have vanquished. The verses which praise Marguerite must needs content me the most.'

6

"What a good father we have, and what fine children God hath given me and would it should please his Holy Majesty to give thee the like blessing! And now this is the last day of this great emprise, which shall be remembered as long, methinks, as France exists and memory endures of chivalry, poesy, and art-the gay savoir and King René's code.

66

'It was not till this eve that our father adjudged the final prize of this magnificent passage of arms. I promise thee my heart beat very fast when, in the midst of all the court and the foreign ladies, his majesty rose to declare the victor; and it gave a great bound, as if jumping for joy, when the cry rose, Prégny! Prégny! Lorraine a le prix! Ferry received the golden wand, the posy, and a diamond worth one hundred pieces of gold, from the gentille Pastourelle. And what think you he did? He besought her to keep

เ

them all! Methinks this beau sire is something too generous. But it was soon bruited that nothing would serve Jeanne but that the diamond should be sold for the relief of the plague-stricken folk of Aix. After the dancing was over, the whole court was entertained in the pavilion of Louis de Beauveau; and the King sent there for the ladies sweet confections and rare fruits. The sky was so beautiful that the night seemed almost as bright as the day. The moonshine lighted the swift river with a soft radiance. The most entrancing lays, in which poesy is sweetly married with music, sounded in our ears; and nothing marred those gleesome hours, which only, like the fast-flowing Rhone, passed too quickly.

"The Dauphin hath come to this province since the death of his sweet wife. Her last words were those she often used towards the end of her brief life: Fi de la vie! ne n'en parlez plus.' Monseigneur our cousin maketh no end of pilgrimages, and hath visited la Sainte Beaume and many other sanctuaries, and he writeth to Rome touching the relics of the Maries disinterred lately on the coast. The good people of this country take him to be a saint, and cry out when he passes, "Noël, Noël! Viva lou Daouphin!" Agnes, the dame de beauté, hath died at Rouen with great sorrow for her sins, and an exceeding great desire to atone for them, if time should have been afforded her. Fra Bernardine of Siena is also dead, and, as all believe, gone straight to heaven; for miracles have already been wrought by his invocation when his corpse was exposed in the church at Massa. Our father is sorely grieved at his decease, but hopeth much from his prayers now he is with God. And now no more, sweet sister. I recommend myself very humbly to your majesty and to the King my good brother. We all pray to Jesu to have you in His keeping.

"YOLANDE D'ANJOU."

Queen, who had followed with "Fair Provence! sweet skies,

"Ah, fair land!" exclaimed the her eyes my reading of this letter. loving visages, chivalrous hearts, ye have passed away from me like a dream !”

Alas, madame," I said, "do you grieve that you are England's queen?"

"Nay," she quickly replied; "now less than ever." The colour rose in her cheek.

"The day I am a mother," she added in a low voice, "I shall be as happy as Yolande."

That day came. O, my poor Queen!

CHAPTER XX.

A VISIT TO THE COUNTRY.

By reason of a sickness I had in the course of the year 1454, I was advised by the physicians to remove from London for a season; and therefore, released for the space of six months from my attendance at court, I went to the house of Mistress Elizabeth Clere, a kinswoman of my mother's, which lived near Norwich. The day before I left town, this letter came to me from my father. Its contents did but increase the heaviness I then endured, as will be seen by those who read it.

The Lord de Roos to his Daughter.

"I greet you well, my dear daughter, and send you God's blessing and mine; and touching the matter which by your means their majesties desire I should inform them of, and write them the truth thereof, I have discovered, through the reports of honourable spies, that Monseigneur Gilles is yet in prison; and that the letter which our sovereign lord the King sent by the hands of the King of France, or rather the French king I should say, and which was so noble and so reasonable that nothing more convincing could be thought of, failed of its effect because that king joined to it one from his own self, which weakened its urgency, and rather should incite the Duke of Brittany to persevere in his ill-usage of his brother than dissuade him from it. So greatly hath this ill-usage increased, that he is withdrawn from any care or charge of honourable men, and committed to the hands of one Olivier de Meêl, an extremely wicked man, the creature of the Maréchal de Montauban. These wretches have, it is said, shut up the prince in a dark dungeon, and cruelly maltreated him. Verily it seems they would kill him in this wise, whom no judges can be found to condemn. Contrariwise, the Estates of Brittany publicly absolved him, to the no small anger of the duke and his favourite. Then the prince found means from his prison to write to his liege lord the king of-I mean the French king—a narrative of the horrible sufferings he endured, and entreated to be released by his authority, and brought before him to confront his accusers. The same messenger also took letters from the Lady Françoise d'Amboise (who hath the keeping of the prince's little wife), and likewise from the Constable de Richemont, to the King, beseeching him with much liberty and urgency to procure his nephew's deliverance. And this time they succeeded; for the King sent the Admiral Coëtivy to the duke to enforce that demand, who, under this pressure, yielded; and Monseigneur Gilles was informed that he was about to be set free, to the no small joy of all his well-wishers. But the news thereof had hardly reached the ears of his friends, when the wicked malice of his enemies invented a foul stratagem whereby this fair dawn of hope was overcast. A herald appeared at court with a letter from our sovereign lord King Henry to the duke; wherein his majesty demanded, in very peremptory and haughty terms, the in