my rosary altogether!—I knew I should
never get through them all."

While Sir Caribert of the Leaf is pursuing
his way towards the capital, mounted on his
good steed—Rouge Dragon—and skirting the
beautiful banks of the Loire, where his
father's castle was situated, it chanced that,
on this same cloudless fourth of May, two
litters, sumptuously fitted up, were waiting in the
court-yard of the great Château de Guernon on
the Marue. Fifty men-at-arms, the guards of
these litters, sat motionless on their horses,
leaning on their spears, and waiting the
approach of the two ladies whom they were
to accompany to the court. In the hall
Herminie d'Evreux was kneeling on the
cushion before her father, who held her hands
in his, and bestowed his blessing, which was
sometimes interrupted by his tears.

"You are young, Herminie," he said, "and
very timid. You are too bashful for a
daughter of my house, and heiress of all my
lands; but I would rather see the rose of,
modesty on a maiden's cheek than the flush
of pride; or, what will never happen to my
Herminie, the blush of shame. Take her,
sister mine," he said, when the words of
benediction were uttered, " take her, Duchess
of Vaugrimant—be her guardian, her mother,
her angel in the court, and bring her back to
me as pure, as good, as loving as she is now.
Herminie d'Evreux, remember that the
honour of our house and the happiness of
your father are both in your hands." Pale
with emotion, trembling with fear, Herminie
was on the point of sinking at her father's
feet. But the Duchess of Vaugrimant stepped
forward and put her arm round her waist,
"Come daughter," she said, " niece no longer
—trust to me. You have but one fault but it
is almost a virtue—you are too diffident, too
subdued. Stand up, and quail not before king
or noble! You have beauty enough to make
you an empress; you have birth and ancestry
enough to make you chief of the court. If:
you were old and charmless as I am—"

"Charmless? Oh, aunt! if I could curtsey
as you do; oh, aunt! if I could speak,
and sing, and walk, and threaten, and
command; but I can do nothing—nothing
but shake and tremble;—oh! might I
stay at home! " But the father waved his
hand; the duchess assisted the agitated girl
across the great hall, and down the front
steps, and into the litter, lined with such
beautiful pink silk and ornamented with such
a lovely window of real glass. Her favourite
little dog was placed upon her knee—she
kissed it as if for consolation; and the word
was given for Paris. The cavalcade started
off; and while Sir Caribert of the Leaf
dismounted that night and sought the
accommodation of a hostelry at Fontainbleau, the
Duchess of Vaugrimant and her charming
charge obtained the hospitality of the Seneschal
of Conlammiers,and both parties crossed
over to the Marais on the following day, at
the same hour, and were received very
graciously by his most Christian majesty the
chivalrous Francis the First.

"By St. Denis's nostrils! " (they had curious
oaths in those days;) said the king, "both
knight and maiden were wise to keep out of
Sir Caribert's way."

"If they wish to avoid having their toes
trod on by a country lout," said the Compte
de Saint Marceau, who, in the absence of the
Fool, filled the office of merryman of the court.

"Maidens may do as they like," said the
Vidame of Bugençy. " I will not yield a
step." He touched the handle of his sword
as he spoke, and then twirled his moustache.
He was the bully of the royal circle; and
looked round with a threatening frown.

"Poor Chevalier de Mont-Chery! " said
Francis, with a laugh. " I see two combats
at least await him, one in repartee with Saint
Marceau, and one with more dangerous arms
with Bugençy."

"It depends, your majesty, on which of us
he encounters first," replied the duellist with
a grin; " if he begins with me, Saint Marceau
may spare his breath, unless to pronounce
his funeral oration."

"But here he comes," said Francis, " fresh
from the presence of the queen. Have you
lost anything, Sir Caribert? You seem in
search of something."

"Of his wit," suggested Saint Marceau in a
whisper.

"Of his courage! " muttered Bugençy,
almost audibly.

"A dog, your majesty! a beautiful Italian
greyhound belonging to one of the maids of
honour. Has it, by good fortune, wandered
into this hall?"

"Why should you think we should notice
the foul animal you describe?" inquired
Saint Marceau, laying a foundation for an
extempore retort.

Sir Caribert eyed him, and saw a look of
expectant triumph. The courtiers were
listening for his answer.

"I thought you might study the dog, to
learn how to take a whipping," said Sir
Caribert, with a frown; "the lesson might
be useful, and not long of being needed."

"You teach dogs manners, then?"
interposed Bugençy.

"Ay: puppies, too, when they require it."

The king clapped his hands.

"The clown has beat the wit—the freshling
has cowed the swordsman!"

"That is to be seen," said Bugençy, with a
smile. " Your name is, I believe, Sir Caribert
of the Leaf. With his majesty's permission,
I shall have great satisfaction in stripping
your bough, and seeing whether you have
greatest resemblance to the oak, or, as I guess
from your trembling, to the aspen."

"If I tremble, 'tis with impatience to
trample on a knave. There! "—with his glove,
held lightly in his hand, he tapped the cheek
of the astonished Bugençy.