e windows.

After a company of musketeers, a closely ranked troop of gentlemen, came
the litter of monsieur le cardinal, drawn like a carriage by four black
horses. The pages and people of the cardinal marched behind.

Next came the carriage of the queen-mother, with her maids of honor at
the doors, her gentlemen on horseback at both sides.

The king then appeared, mounted upon a splendid horse of Saxon breed,
with a flowing mane. The young prince exhibited, when bowing to some
windows from which issued the most animated acclamations, a noble and
handsome countenance, illumined by the flambeaux of his pages.

By the side of the king, though a little in the rear, the Prince de
Conde, M. Dangeau, and twenty other courtiers, followed by their people
and their baggage, closed this veritably triumphant march. The pomp was
of a military character.

Some of the courtiers--the elder ones, for instance--wore traveling
dresses; but all the rest were clothed in warlike panoply. Many wore the
gorges and buff coat of the times of Henry IV. and Louis XIII.

When the king passed before him, the unknown, who had leant forward over
the balcony to obtain a better view, and who had concealed his face
by leaning on his arm, felt his heart swell and overflow with a bitter
jealousy.

The noise of the trumpets excited him--the popular acclamations deafened
him: for a moment he allowed his reason to be absorbed in this flood of
lights, tumult and brilliant images.

"He is a king!" murmured he, in an accent of despair.

Then, before he had recovered from his sombre reverie all the noise, all
the splendor, had passed away. At the angle of the street there remained
nothing beneath the stranger but a few hoarse, discordant voices,
shouting at intervals, "Vive le Roi!"

There remained likewise the six candles held by the inhabitants of the
hostelry des Medici; that is to say, two for Cropole, two for Pittrino,
and one for each scullion. Cropole never ceased repeating, "How
good-looking the king is! How strongly he resembles his illustrious
father!"

"A handsome likeness!" said Pittrino.

"And what a lofty carriage he has!" added Madame Cropole, already in
promiscuous commentary with her neighbors of both sexes.

Cropole was feeding their gossip with his own personal remarks, without
observing that an old man on foot, but leading a small Irish horse by
the bridle, was endeavoring to penetrate the crowd of men and women
which blocked