st between the brothers-in-law, Charles, when
dismounting at the castle gate, not disguising his weariness and relief
that it was over, and Rene, eager and anxious, desirous of making all
his bewildering multitude of guests as happy as possible, while the
Dauphin Louis stood by, half interested and amused, half mocking. He
was really fond of his uncle, though in a contemptuous superior sort
of manner, despising his religious and honourable scruples as mere
simplicity of mind.

Rene of Anjou has been hardly dealt with, as is often the case with
princes upright, religious, and chivalrous beyond the average of their
time, yet without the strength or the genius to enforce their rights and
opinions, and therefore thrust aside. After his early unsuccessful wars
his lands of Provence and Lorraine were islands of peace, prosperity,
and progress, and withal he was an extremely able artist, musician,
and poet, striving to revive the old troubadour spirit of Provence, and
everywhere casting about him an atmosphere of refinement and kindliness.

The hall of his hotel at Nanci was a beautiful place, with all the
gorgeous grace of the fifteenth century, and here his guests assembled
for supper soon after their arrival, all being placed as much as
possible according to rank. Eleanor found herself between a deaf old
Church dignitary and Duke Sigismund, on whose other side was Yolande,
the Infanta, as the Provencals called the daughter of Rene; while Jean
found the Dauphin on one side of her and a great French Duke on
the other. Louis amused himself with compliments and questions that
sometimes nettled her, sometimes pleased her, giving her a sense that he
might admire her beauty, but was playing on her simplicity, and trying
to make her betray the destitution of her home and her purpose in
coming.

Eleanor, on the other hand, found her cavalier more simple than herself.
In fact, he properly belonged to the Infanta, but she paid no attention
to him, nor did the Bishop try to speak to the Scottish princess.
Sigismund's French was very lame, and Eleanor's not perfect, but she had
a natural turn for languages, and had, in the convent, picked up some
German, which in those days had many likenesses to her own broad Scotch.
They made one another out, between the two languages, with signs,
smiles, and laughter, and whereas the subtilties along the table
represented the entire story of Sir Gawain and his Loathly Lady, she
contrived to explai