"Did you notice how he melted the ice of her nature?" whispered Diane,
with a malicious little laugh, to the countess.

"And yet 'twas not his--warmth that did it," wisely answered the
favorite of the king.

"His coldness, then," laughed the other, as the musicians began to
play, and the winner of the chaplet led the princess to the dance. "Is
it not so, Sire?" she added, turning to the king, who at that moment
approached.

"He, indeed, forgot a part of the ceremony," graciously assented
Francis.

"A part of the ceremony, your Majesty?" questioned Diane.

"To kiss the two damsels of the princess; and one of them was worthy of
casual courtesy," he added, musingly.

"Which, Sire?" asked the countess, quickly.

"The dark-browed maid," returned the monarch, thoughtfully. "Where did
I notice her last?"

And then he remembered. It was she who, he suspected, had laughed that
night in Fools' hall. Recalling the circumstance, the king looked
around for her, but she had drawn back.

"Is it your pleasure to open the festivities, Sire?" murmured the
favorite, and, without further words, Francis acquiesced, proffering
his arm to his companion.

Masque, costume ball, ballet, it was all one to the king and the court,
who never wearied of the diverting vagaries of the dance. Now studying
that pantomimic group of merrymakers, in the rhythmical expression of
action and movement could almost be read the influence and relative
positions of the fair revelers. The countess, airy and vivacious,
perched, as it were, lightly yet securely on the arm of the throne;
Diane, fearless, confident of the future through the dauphin;
Catharine, proud of her rank, undisturbed in her own exalted place as
wife of the dauphin; Marguerite, mixture of saint and sinner, a soft
heart that would oft-times turn the king from a hard purpose.

"There! I've danced enough," said a panting voice, and Jacqueline,
breathless, paused before the duke's fool, who stood a motionless
spectator of the revelry. In his rich costume of blue and white, the
figure of the foreign jester presented a fair and striking appearance,
but his face, proud and composed, was wanting in that spirit which
animated the features of his fellows in motley.

"One more turn, fair Jacqueline?" suggested Marot, her partner in the
dance.

"Not one!" she answered.

"Is that a dismissal?" he asked, lightly.

"'Tis for you to determine," retorted the maid.

"Modesty forbids