tation
vanished from his manner. Hastily crossing to her side, he took her
hand and unresistingly it lay in his. His heart beat faster; her
sudden acquiescence filled him with wonder; at the same time, his task
seemed easier. To protect her now! The king coughed ironically, and
the duke turned from her to him.

"By what right, your Majesty?" he said in a voice which sounded
different to Francis. "This lady is my affianced bride, Sire."

Pique, umbrage, mingled in the expression which replaced all other
feeling on the king's countenance as he heard this announcement. With
manifest displeasure he looked from one to the other.

"Is this true, Mademoiselle?" he asked, sternly.

Her cheek was red, but she held herself bravely.

"Yes, Sire," she said.

A new emotion leaped to the duke's face as he heard her lips thus
fearlessly confirm the answer of her eyes. And so before the
monarch--in that court which Marguerite called the Court of Love--they
plighted their troth.

Something in their manner, however, puzzled the observant king; an
exaltation, perhaps, uncalled for by the simple telling of a secret
understanding between them; that rapid interchange of glances; that
significance of manner when the duke stepped to her side. Francis bit
his lips.

"_Ma foi!_" he exclaimed, sharply. "This is somewhat abrupt. How
long, my Lord, since she promised to be your wife?"

"Since your Majesty spoke," returned the duke, tranquilly.

"And before that?"

"Before? I only knew that _I_ loved _her_, Sire."

"And now you know, for the first time, that _she_ loves _you_?" added
the king, dryly. "But the emperor--are you not presuming overmuch that
he will give his consent? Or think you"--with fine irony--"that
marriages of state are made in Heaven?"

"It was once my privilege, Sire, so to serve the emperor, as his
Majesty thought, that he bade me ask of him what I would, when I would.
Heretofore have I had nothing to ask; now, everything."

Some of the asperity faded from Francis' glance. The situation
appealed to his strong penchant for merry _plaisanterie_.
Besides--such was his overweening pride--to hear a woman confess she
cared for another dampened his own ardor, instead of stimulating it.
"None but himself could be his parallel;" the royal lover could brook
no rival. Had she merely desired to marry the former fool--the
Countess of Chateaubriant had had a husband--but to love him!

After all, she was but