must be
issued by the Marquise d'Ancre," was the formal reply of the stately
lady of honour.

"Madame du Fargis," resumed the Queen, a short time afterwards, "I have
mislaid a letter--a petition--bearing the name of the Comtesse de
Touraine; I wish it to be found and answered."

"Madame," responded the beautiful Countess meekly, "the Marquise d'Ancre
has charge of all the petitions addressed to your Majesty."

Marie de Medicis turned away in silence. She had striven to believe that
she could dispense with the services of Leonora; but every day, and
almost every hour, she became more convinced of her utter helplessness
without her. Madame d'Ancre had been the playmate of her infancy, the
friend of her girlhood; she was the confidante of her most hidden
thoughts, her counsellor in difficulty, and her consoler in her moments
of trial. The ill-advised bearing of those about her sufficed to remind
her of these facts, and her resolution was forthwith formed. Concini
might still be made to feel and to suffer for his fault, but she could
not dispense with the society and support of Leonora.

The Queen retired to her private closet, and the mistress of the robes
was summoned to her presence by a page. As she entered, Marie was
startled by the change which had taken place in her appearance; her eyes
were swollen with weeping, and her cheek was even more sallow than its
wont. Whatever might be her faults, there can be no doubt that Leonora
was deeply and tenderly attached to her royal foster-sister; and that
the disgrace into which she had fallen had consequently affected her to
an intense degree. She was no longer the proud and imperious favourite
who through the Regent sought to govern France, but a weak and sorrowing
woman, mourning over the ruin of all her hopes.

The apartment to which the Queen-mother had so unexpectedly summoned her
foster-sister was, as we have said, her private closet, in which she
passed several hours each day while residing at the Louvre. The walls
were covered to the height of ten feet from the floor by magnificent
hangings of crimson damask, surmounted by a dome of pale blue silk,
upon which were elaborately embroidered the arms of the Medici. From the
centre of this dome hung a silver lamp, chiselled by the hand of
Benvenuto Cellini, and suspended by a chain of the same metal; a table
of carved oak stood in the centre of the room, upon which were placed a
pair of globes, sundry astronomical ins