'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.