"Sir, what is wrong with you? Are you ill? Are you a friend of Talbot's?"

"Yes, I am a friend of his."

"And did you not know this? I thought every one knew it. Does not the King of Scotland know? What will he do when he learns, think you, or will it make a difference?"

"The King of Scotland is a blind fool; a conceited coxcomb, who thinks every woman that sees him must fall in love with him."

"Sir, you amaze me. Are you not a subject of his? You would not speak so in his hearing."

"Indeed and that I would, without hesitation, and he knows it."

"Is he so handsome as they say? Alas, I am thought too young to engage in court festivities, and in spite of my pleadings I was not allowed even to see his arrival."

The king had now recovered his composure, and there was a return of his gallant bearing.

"Madam, tell me your name, and I shall intercede that so rigid a rule for one so fair may be relaxed."

"Ah, now your impudence reasserts itself. My name is not for you. How can a humble Scottish knight hope to soften a rule promulgated by the King of France himself?"

"Madam, you forget that we are guests of France, and in this courteous country nothing is denied us. We meet with no refusals except from proud ladies like yourself. I shall ask my captain, he shall pass my request to the general, who will speak to the King of Scotland, and the king, when he knows how beautiful you are, will beg the favour from Francis himself."

The girl clasped her hands with exuberant delight.

"I wonder if it is possible," she said, leaning towards the gay cavalier, as if he were now her dearest friend--for indeed it was quite evident that she thought much of him in spite of his irregular approach. She was too young to feel the rules of etiquette otherwise than annoying bonds, and like an imprisoned wild bird, was willing to take any course that promised liberty.

"Your name, then, madam?"

"My name is Madeleine."

"I need not ask if you are noble."

"I am at least as noble as Mary of Vendome, whom your king is to marry, if he is cruel enough."

At this point one of the women, who had stationed herself near the door, came running towards the group and warned them that somebody was approaching. The attendants, who had hitherto remained passive, probably with some womanly curiosity regarding the strange interview, now became wild with excitement, and joined their mistress in begging the stranger to depart.

"Not until I have whispered in your ear," he said stoutly.

"I cannot permit it; I cannot permit it. Go, go at once, I implore you."

"Then I escort you within the hall to meet whoever comes."

"Sir, you are importunate. Well, it doesn't matter; whisper."

He bent toward her and said:--

"Madeleine, you must meet me here alone at this time to-morrow."

"Never, never," she cried resolutely.

"Very well then; here I stay until you consent."

"You are cruel," she said, tears springing in her eyes. Then appealingly, as a knock sounded against the door, she added, "I promise. Go at once."

The young man precipitated himself over the parapet into the tree. The fortune which attends lovers and drunkards favoured him, and the last bending branch lowered him as gently to the gravel of the walk as if he were a son of the forest. He glanced upward, and saw that the luminous face, in its diaphanous environment of dark hair was again bent over the parapet, the lips apart and still, saying nothing, but the eloquent eyes questioning; indeed he fancied he saw in them some slight solicitude for his safety. He doffed his hat, kissed the tips of his fingers and wafted the salutation toward her, while a glow of satisfaction filled his breast as he actually saw a similar movement on the part of her own fair fingers, which was quickly translated into a gesture pointing to the garden door, and then she placed a finger-tip to her lips, a silent injunction for silence. He knew when to obey, as well as when to disobey, and vanished quickly through the door. He retreated in no such despairing phase of mind as he had advanced, but now paid some attention to the geography of the place that he might return unquestioning to his tryst. Arriving at the more public corridors of the palace, his first encounter was with the Constable of Falaise. Talbot's dress was travel-stained, and his youthful face wore almost the haggardness of age. He looked like a man who had ridden hard and slept little, finding now small comfort at the end of a toilsome journey. The king, with a cry of pleasure at the meeting, smote his two hands down on the shoulders of the other, who seemed unconsciously to shrink from the boisterous touch.

"Talbot," he cried, "you promised to overtake me at Tours, but you did not."

"It is not given to every man to overtake your majesty," said Talbot hoarsely.

"Constable of Falaise, you were not honest with me that night in your castle. I spoke to you freely from the bottom of my heart; you answered me from your lips outward."

"I do not understand your majesty," replied the young man grimly.

"Yes, you do. You love Mary of Vendome. Why did you not tell me so?"

"To what purpose should I have made such a confession, even if it were the fact?"

"To the purpose of truth, if for nothing else. God's sake, man, is it thus you love in France! Cold Scotland can be in that your tutor. In your place, there had been a quick divorce between my sword and scabbard. Were my rival twenty times a king, I'd face him out and say, by Cupid's bow, return or fight."

"What! This in your castle to your guest?" exclaimed Talbot.

"No, perhaps not. You are in the right, constable, you are in the right. I had forgotten your situation for the moment. I should have been polite to him within my own walls, but I should have followed him across my marches and slit his gullet on the king's highway."

Notwithstanding his distraction of mind the newcomer smiled somewhat wanly at the impetuosity of the other.

"You must remember that while your foot presses French soil, you are still the guest of all true Frenchmen, nevertheless your majesty's words have put new life into my veins. Did you see Mary of Vendome?"

"Yes, and there is not three months' life left to her unless she draws vitality from your presence. Man, man, why stand you here idling?

Climb walls, force bolts, kidnap the girl and marry her in spite of all the world."

"Alas, there is not a priest in all France would dare to marry us, knowing her pledged to your majesty."

"Priests of France! I have priests in my own train who will, at a word from me, link you tighter than these stones are cemented together.

God's will, Talbot, these obstacles but lend interest to the chase."

"Is it possible that you, having opportunity, care not to marry Mary of Vendome?" cried the amazed young man, who could not comprehend that where his preference fell another might be indifferent; for she was, as he had said, the Pearl of France to him, and it seemed absurd to imagine that she might not be so to all the world.

"United Europe, with Francis and the Emperor Charles for once combined could not force me to marry where I did not love. I failed to understand this when I left Scotland, but I have grown in wisdom since then."

"Who is she?" asked the constable, with eager interest.

"Hark ye, Talbot," said the king, lowering his voice and placing an arm affectionately over the shoulder of the other. "You shall be my guide. Who is the Lady Madeleine of this court?"

"The Lady Madeleine? There are several."

"No, there is but one, the youngest, the most beautiful, the most witty, the most charming. Who is she?"

The constable wrinkled his brows in thought.