youth at the same turn of the highway; yet here was his French brother,
indefatigable in the pursuit of merriment, while his own soul sang
_miserere_ to the tune of Francis' fiddles. Yet, had he overheard the
conversation of the favorite and the king, the emperor's moodiness
would not, perhaps, have been unmixed with a stronger feeling.

"Sire," the duchess was saying in her most persuasive manner, "while
you have Charles--once your keeper--in your power, here in the chateau,
you will surely punish him for the past and avenge yourself? You will
make him revoke the treaty of Madrid, or shut him up in one of Louis
XI's oubliettes?"

"I will persuade him if I can," replied the king coldly, "but never
force him. My honor, Madam, is dearer to me than my interests."

The favorite said no more of a cherished project, knowing Francis'
temper and his stubbornness when crossed. She merely shrugged her
white shoulders and watched him closely. The monarch had not scrupled
once to break his covenant with Charles, holding that treaties made
under duress, by _force majeure_, were legally void, while now-- But
the king was composed of contradictions, or--was her own influence
waning?

She had observed a new expression cross his countenance when in the
retinue of the emperor he had noted the daughter of the constable; such
a tenderness as she remembered at Bayonne when the king had looked upon
her, the duchess, for the first time. When she next spoke her words
were the outcome of this train of thought.

"To think the jestress, Jacqueline, should turn out the daughter of
that traitor, the Constable of Dubrois," she observed, keenly.

"A traitor, certainly," said Francis, "but also a brave man. Perhaps
we pressed him too hard," he added retrospectively. "We were young in
years and hot-tempered."

"Your Majesty remembers the girl--a dark-browed, bold creature?"
remarked the duchess, smiling amiably.

"Dark-browed, perhaps, Madam; but I observed nothing bold in her
demeanor," answered the king.

"What! a jestress and not bold! A girl who frequented Fools' hall; who
ran away from court with the _plaisant_!" She glanced at him
mischievously, like a wilful child, but before his frown the smile
faded; involuntarily she clenched her hands.

"Madam," he replied cynically, "I have always noticed that women are
poor judges of their own sex."

And conducting her to a seat, he raised her jeweled fingers
perfunctorily to his l