There was still a touch of resentment in the tone of these brief answers, and the young man understood perfectly that it behooved him to whisper in her ear some pretty nothing, some stereotyped gallantry—no matter what. He bent over her accordingly, but his imagination could furnish nothing more tender or personal than: “Why does your mother always wear a gown emblazoned with her heraldic device, as our grandmothers did in the time of Charles VII? Prithee, fair cousin, tell her that is no longer the fashion of the day, and that these hinges and laurel-trees embroidered on her gown make her appear like a walking mantel-piece. Nobody sits on their banner like that nowadays, I do assure you!”

Fleur-de-Lys raised her fine eyes to him reproachfully. “And is that all you have to assure me of?” she asked in low tones.

Meanwhile the good Dame Aloïse, overjoyed to see them thus leaning together and whispering, exclaimed as she trifled with the clasps of her book of hours: “Touching scene of love!”

The captain, more and more embarrassed, returned helplessly to the subject of the tapestry. “I’ faith, a charming piece of work!” he exclaimed.

At this juncture Colombe de Gaillefontaine, another pink-and-white, golden-haired beauty, dressed in pale blue damask, ventured a shy remark to Fleur-de-Lys, hoping however that the handsome soldier would answer her.

“Dear Gondelaurier, have you seen the tapestries at the Hôtel de la Roche-Guyon?”

“Is not that where there is a garden belonging to the Linenkeeper of the Louvre?” asked Diane de Christeuil with a laugh; for having beautiful teeth she laughed on all occasions.

“And where there is a great ancient tower, part of the old wall of Paris?” added Amelotte de Montmichel, a charming, curly-haired, who had a trick of sighing, just as Diane laughed, without any valid reason.

“My dear Colombe,” said Dame Aloïse, “do you mean the Hôtel which belonged to M. de Bacqueville in the reign of King Charles VI? There are, in effect, some superb high-warp tapestries there.”

“Charles VI—King Charles VI!” muttered the young officer, twirling his mustache. “Heavens! how far back does the old lady’s memory reach?”

“Superb tapestries!” repeated Mme. de Gondelaurier. “So much so, indeed, that they are accounted absolutely unique.”

At this moment Berangère de Champchevrier, a slip of a little girl of seven, who had been looking down into the Place through the carved trefoils of the balcony, cried out: “Oh, godmother Fleur-de-Lys, do look at this pretty girl dancing and playing the tambourine in the street in the middle of that ring of people!”

The penetrating rattle of a tambourine rose up to them from the square.

“Some gipsy of Bohemia,” said Fleur-de-Lys, turning her head carelessly towards the square.

“Let us look—let us look!” cried her companions, eagerly running to the balustrade, while she followed more slowly, musing on the coldness of her betrothed. The latter, thankful for this incident, which cut short an embarrassing conversation, returned to the other end of the apartment with the well-contented air of a soldier relieved from duty.

Yet it was an easy and pleasant service, that of being on duty at the side of the fair Fleur-de-Lys, and time was when he had thought it so. But the captain had gradually wearied of it, and the thought of his approaching marriage grew more distasteful to him every day. Moreover, he was of inconstant disposition, and, we are bound to confess, of somewhat vulgar proclivities. Although of very noble birth, he had with his uniform adopted many of the low habits of the common soldier. The tavern and all that belongs