an audacious slip of a girl; a dark-browed, bold
gipsy; by nature, intended for the motley--yes, the Duchesse d'Etampes
was right. Then, he liked not her parentage; she was a constant
reminder of one who had been like to make vacant the throne of France,
and to destroy, root and branch, the proud house of Orleans. Moreover,
whispered avarice, he would save the castle for himself; a stately and
right royal possession. He had, indeed, been over-generous in
proffering it. Love, said reason, was unstable, flitting; woman, a
will-o'-the-wisp; but a castle--its noble solidity would endure. At
the same time, policy admonished the king that the duke was a subject
of his good brother, the emperor, and a rich, powerful noble withal.
So with such grace as he could command Francis greeted one whom he
preferred to regard as an ally rather than an enemy.

"Truly, my Lord," he said not discourteously, masking in a courtly
manner his personal dislike for him whose sharp criticism he once had
felt in Fools' hall, "a nimble-witted jester was lost when you resumed
the dignity of your position. But," he added cautiously, as a sudden
thought moved him, "this lady has appeared somewhat unexpectedly; the
house of Friedwald is not an inconsequential one."

"What mean you, Sire?" asked the young man, as the king paused.

Francis studied him shrewdly. "Why," he replied at length,
hesitatingly, "there is that controversy of the Constable of Dubrois;
certain lands and a castle, long since rightly confiscated."

"Your Majesty, there is another castle, and lands to spare, in a
distant country," returned the duke quickly. "These will suffice."

"As you will," said the king in a livelier tone. "For the future,
command our good offices--since you have made us sponsor of your
fortunes."

With which well-covered confession of his own defeat, Francis strode
away. As he turned, however, he caught the smile of the Duchesse
d'Etampes and crossed to her graciously.

"Your dress becomes you well, Anne," he said.

She glanced down at herself demurely; her lashes veiled a sudden gleam
of triumph. "How kind of you, Sire, to notice--my poor gown."

"I was right," murmured Triboulet, joyfully, as he saw king and
favorite walking together. "No one will ever replace the duchess."

Silent, hand in hand, the duke and the joculatrix stood upon the
balcony. Below them lay the earth, wrapped in hazy light. Behind
them, the court, with its glamour