t, and the king feared him; because he
was noble and handsome, and the queen-regent loved him. It was not her
hand only, Louise of Savoy, Francis' mother, offered, but--the throne."

"The throne!" said the wondering fool.

Quickly she crossed the room and leaned upon the table. In the glimmer
of the candles her face was soft and tender. He thought he had never
seen a sweeter or more womanly expression.

"But he refused it," she continued, "for he loved only the memory of
his wife, Lady Anne. She, a perfect being. The other--what?"

On her features shone a fine contempt.

"Then followed the endless persecution and spite of a woman scorned,"
she continued, rapidly. "One by one, his honors were wrested from him.
He who had borne the flag triumphantly through Italy was deprived of
the government of Milan and replaced by a brother of Madame de
Chateaubriant, then favorite of the king. His castle, lands, were
confiscated, until, driven to despair, he fled and allied himself with
the emperor. 'Traitor,' they called him. He, a Bayard."

A moment she stood, an exalted look on her features; tall, erect; then
stepped toward him and took the sword. With a bright and radiant
glance she surveyed it; pressed the hilt to her lips, and with both
hands held it to her bosom. As if fascinated, the fool watched her.
Her countenance was upturned; a moment, and it fell; a dark shadow
crossed it; beneath her lashes her eyes were like night.

"But he failed because Charles, the emperor, failed him," she said,
almost mechanically, "and broken in spirit, met his death miserably in
exile. Yet his cause was just; his memory is dearer than that of a
conqueror. She, the queen-mother, is dead; God alone may deal with
her."

More composed, she resumed her place in the chair on the other side of
the table, the sword across her arm.

"And how came you, mistress," he asked, regarding her closely, "in the
pleasure palace built by Francis?"

"When the castle was taken, all who had not fled were a gamekeeper and
his little girl--myself. The latter"--ironically--"pleased some of the
court ladies. They commended her wit, and gradually was she advanced
to the high position she occupied when you arrived," with a strange
glance across the board at her listener.

"And the gamekeeper--your father--is dead?"

"Long since."

"The constable had no children?"

"Yes; a girl who, it is believed, died with him in Spain."

The entrance of