s the people placed
the blame where, in good truth, it belonged, on the queen and the royal
princes. For the mad king there was nothing but a compassionate love, a
tender sympathy; the people pitied this kindly unfortunate, abandoned by
his wife, used as a tool by first one set of princes and then another.

At the funeral of Charles VI. not a single prince of France was present;
the English Bedford conducted the whole sad affair. "As the body of the
King was put in the sepulchre beside his predecessors, the heralds broke
their rods and cast them into the grave... And then the Berri
king-at-arms, accompanied by several heralds and pursuivants, cried out
over the grave: 'May God have mercy upon the very noble and very
excellent Prince Charles, sixth of the name, our lawful and sovereign
lord!' And after this the aforesaid king-at-arms cried out: 'May God
grant long life and prosperity to Henry, by the grace of God King of
France and of England, our sovereign lord!' And then the heralds raised
aloft their truncheons with the fleur-de-lis, crying: _'Vive le roi!
Vive le roi!'_ And some of those present answered _Noel_ (the ancient
salutation to the King); but there were some who wept."

Thus the wretched Isabeau's work was, it seemed, complete, her son being
a fugitive before the arms of the foreigner, while her infant grandson
was King of France. From this time she disappears completely from the
scene of action, drawing her meagre pension from the hands of the
English, who treated her with deserved contempt, and cursed by all
France for the memory of her evil deeds. We catch but a fleeting glimpse
of her, living in obscurity at the royal palace of Saint-Pol. When on
December 2, 1431, the young King Henry VI. made his solemn entry into
his capital of Paris, the royal procession passed by the windows of the
palace, and the boy king, looking up, saw an old woman in faded finery,
surrounded by a bevy of women attendants. They, told him it was his
grand-mother, the frivolous and once beautiful Isabeau de Baviere, and
he doffed his cap, while Isabeau bowed to him and turned aside to weep.
Did she weep from sincere contrition, or merely from regret of the
departed luxury and extravagance of her life? She was not to live many
years longer; but it was long enough to know that France had survived
even her treachery and that her son was at peace with the Duke of
Burgundy. So far from rejoicing, it is said that she died of regret that