Some days later, the princess said to Le Glorieux, "Philibert de Bresse has not been the same since his return from Italy. What spell was cast over him in that country?"

"Almost any question can be solved," said the jester, with a wise look, "if one will sit down and think it out quietly. I have wondered for a long time why the climate of Austria has agreed so well with Clotilde, and I find that it was all owing to Don Geronimo Bartolomeo Zurriago y Escafusa. Is it not wonderful how well I recollect that name? And the beauty of it is that once learned I shall never forget it."

"What has all that to do with Philibert de Bresse?" asked the princess.

"That has nothing to do with him, of course; I am simply leading up to him. This is what I have figured out for Philibert. Of course he knows that he must marry some time; few men can escape matrimony. When he was plain future Count de Bresse he had a wider selection of ladies with whom he might wed. Now that he is the future Duke of Savoy, there is a smaller number from whom he may choose; for, though I never could see the justice of it, there always is more milk than there is cream."

"He is very young to be thinking of such things," said Marguerite coldly.

"When you come to age, he is no younger than your n.o.ble brother, who is to wed the Princess Juana; or the young heir of Spain, who is to wed a certain princess of my acquaintance, a lady not quite sixteen. Let us suppose that Philibert had his mind fixed upon some maiden, who was in his own rank when he was simply to be a count, then, suddenly, he pops up into the circle of dukes, where he must look down upon her. It is enough to make any man gloomy."

"Sometimes you talk in a very sensible manner, Le Glorieux," said the Lady Marguerite, frowning, "but to-day you speak nothing but nonsense."

And she walked away with her head held high as was always the case when she was out of temper.

Looking after her slender figure as it disappeared through an archway, the jester muttered to himself, "Not to contradict a princess of the blood royal, I want to say that I never was more sensible than I am at this very moment."

One summer day a gallant armada set sail for the coast of Flanders. It consisted of one hundred and thirty fine vessels, and it was manned by hundreds of sailors; it carried the chivalry of Spain, and it was commanded by the Admiral of Castile. Never had so beautiful a fleet sailed from the Spanish coast, for it brought to Philip of Flanders, the son of Maximilian, his bride, the Infanta Juana.

The people were eager to see the bride of their prince, but if they had expected a beauty, they were disappointed. Juana was pale and delicate in appearance, and, as a French writer of the time expresses it, "a somber fire seemed to burn in her eyes."

"We shall send Spain a far handsomer bride than she sent to us," said Le Glorieux exultantly.

The wedding of Philip and Juana took place in Lille with great pomp and ceremony, and the fleet waited, for it was to take another royal bride on its return trip! But many of the vessels needed repairs after their stormy voyage, and it was some time before they were ready to sail.

Philibert de Bresse, in the meantime, had received news of the death of his father; and, taking leave of his friends at court, he returned to his own country, of which he was now the ruler.

A little princess saying farewell to her parents to go to a strange land where she must remain as long as she lives, is one of the pathetic sides of history; but Marguerite, although very sad at the thought of leaving her adored father, endeavored to be resigned and even cheerful. Before the day of her departure there came a messenger from Savoy with a little packet for the princess. It contained a locket in which was set in diamonds and emeralds an edelweiss, accompanied by the following words, "The name of this flower signifies 'n.o.ble purity,' a fitting gift for this fair daughter of the Hapsburgs."

After all Marguerite was little more than a child, and she could not but look forward with pleasure to the coming voyage, since if one must leave one's native land, it is good to sail away with a splendid fleet. But Cunegunda was inclined to take a gloomy view of the coming journey.

"When you travel by land," said she, "you may be killed, of course, but even in that case, you are there in plain view and can be seen; but if you are drowned, why, where are you?"

"In the bottom of the sea, where you are every bit as comfortable as you would be on land, if you were dead," said Le Glorieux.

"It is a very dangerous trip, and I weep whenever I think of it," said the good woman.

"You weep when you do not think of it, so what difference does it make?"

asked the jester. Brutus, who now was full grown and a hound of extraordinary intelligence, looked at Le Glorieux and wagged his tail, as if fully approving of this sentiment. "It is true, is it not, my friend Brutus, that Cunegunda never misses a chance to cry?" asked the fool, patting the dog's head.

"I know something that will make you cry," said Cunegunda maliciously.

"You could not make me cry, my good lady," replied he. "Think of all for which I have to be thankful: I am still young, I am handsome, I am going to Spain, the land of bull-fights, flowers, and oranges. My little princess is going to marry one of the finest princes of his time, and we shall all be happy, even you, for wherever you are you can always find something to cry about; and weeping is your favorite occupation."

"The Lady Clotilde is going to Spain with us," said Cunegunda slyly.

"You do not mean it!" exclaimed the jester, considerably dismayed.

"But I do mean it. You might have known that her husband would some time take her to his native country."

"Yes, but not at this time," cried the fool excitedly. "Why must she go on this particular voyage? Why is it always convenient for Clotilde to start out just as I am going? She will miss some article that she owns, and every ship will have to be searched for it. Is it not strange the way things come about in this world?" he continued complainingly. "I love that little rascal of an Antoine, and he is to remain here. I am fond of Pandora and Pittacus, though they always treat me with cold indifference, and they must be left behind; but Clotilde, whom I would gladly spare, goes with me!"

With this double marriage Austria was making a precious gift to Spain--she was giving the great possessions of the Hapsburgs, but the fairest gift of all was the young princess, whose departure drew out a great concourse of people. With flags flying and pennons waving, the ships were waiting, the largest and the handsomest for the Lady Marguerite and her suite. The picture of the princess that remained in the memory of those who saw her on that day was a slight, graceful figure standing where the sunlight shone full on her sweet young face, and with one hand resting on the head of her hound.

Then the great fleet fluttered away like a flight of huge b.u.t.terflies, skimming southward.

"I do not see why I should feel so melancholy," said Le Glorieux, going inside and sitting with his head on his hands and his elbows on his knees. "Austria was not my native country; I was born in old Burgundy, and it is too late to be sniveling at parting from Burgundy. It is because I have parted with that little villain of an Antoine that I am like this. When I saw the little wretch smiling at me from the sh.o.r.e, and waving his hand and blinking his eyes, as if he were trying to keep back the tears, what must this tough old heart of mine do but climb right into my throat and try to choke me to death. A heart that has served me well for all these years to play me a trick like that!"

"Will you please rise?" said a cold metallic voice at his elbow.

Glancing up Le Glorieux beheld Don Geronimo, the husband of the Lady Clotilde. The jester's gaze traveled up the tall, thin form of the Spaniard until it reached his face, which was dark and reminded the fool of tanned leather.

"There being no particular reason why I should rise, I shall not rise until it pleases me to do so," said he.

"Permit my servant to take those cushions which are beneath you," said Don Geronimo icily. "You are sitting on a whole pile of them. They are wanted for my wife, the Dona Clotilde, who is overcome."

"I will give anything to any lady at any time," said the fool, rising, "but I should like to know what has overcome your lady wife so soon."

"Parting from her friends," replied the Spaniard, following his man, who was loaded down with cushions.

"She did not care as much for the whole of Austria and Flanders as I cared for that miserable little Antoine," grumbled the fool; "yet she must be packed away in cushions that are jerked from under my very body to make her comfortable. And our princess is so bravely bearing the parting from her father, and is giving no trouble whatever! Any one would think it is Clotilde who is being sent away in such state by Austria."

The first day out it seemed as if the voyage was to be a calm and safe one. When the novelty of gazing at the blue waters had worn off, the princess and her ladies took their embroidery frames and pa.s.sed their time with their needles, laughing and chattering together. As soon as she had ceased to be overcome, the Lady Clotilde joined them. When the conversation turned to the perils of the ocean, she declared that she, for one, did not fear them, being a true representative of a family that knew no fear. She related a number of incidents when, according to her story, she had stood within the very jaws of death without the slightest thrill of fear.

Le Glorieux, who was sitting at the feet of his young mistress playing with the silk-and-gold threads of her embroidery, remarked, "That is because you spend so much of your time in pious reading, Cousin Clotilde. Did you bring with you the silver book about the saints?"

The princess tried to frown at him, but he saw the twinkle of a smile under her long, dark lashes.

But these were the last peaceful hours they spent for many days. In the darkness of the night the storm demon came forth, shrieking in the wind, and beating the waves into fury, holding the ships a trembling instant on the crest of the wave, then dashing them into the trough of the sea, sending some of them down to destruction.

Half dressed, the pa.s.sengers of the Lady Marguerite's ship rushed out into the salon. They forgot that they were the great ones of the earth and that to them had been given the honor of escorting a princess to her bridegroom. They knelt on the floor, and moaned, and told their beads, just as so many peasants might have done.

The Lady Marguerite was calm, though very pale; close beside her stood Le Glorieux, self-possessed, but no longer jesting. "If the good G.o.d is ready to take me now, I could not have a happier death than to go down with my little princess," said he.

Cunegunda held her lady's hand, which, forgetting her own danger, she stroked, with words of endearment, while Brutus crept to her feet, and putting his head on her lap, looked into the face of his mistress as if to say that he, too, was ready to die with her.

The storm did not abate with the approach of day, nor did it cease the next day, nor for many days, and it seemed as if their ship must be rent to pieces by the combined forces of wind and wave.

Once Le Glorieux seized Cunegunda by the shoulders and bawled into her ears, "You are always crying; cry now, when there is some reason for it." But strange to say, Cunegunda shed no tears, though the Lady Clotilde shrieked and wept continuously, seeming to forget all the traditions of her family.

When learning that a number of the vessels had been lost, and that none could tell at what moment her own ship would go down, Marguerite put certain jewels on her fingers, neck, and arms that had long been in the possession of the house of Hapsburg. "The body of a princess is not different from that of a peasant," she said to her faithful attendants, "and it may be that the fury of the storm will spare me some of these jewels; so that if I am washed ash.o.r.e I shall be identified." Then she smiled to keep up the courage of the others and said, "It seems that with all the planning of nations I am never to be a wife."

Then taking a slip of paper she wrote upon it two lines, which she wrapped in a piece of oiled silk and fastened to her bracelet. These lines, written in French, may be translated as follows, "Here lies Marguerite, a n.o.ble maiden, who, though given two husbands, died a maid."

But even a storm at sea can not last for ever, and the stout ship, being mercifully spared, arrived at last with the remainder of the fleet in safety at the port of Santander.