love for young Talbot of Falaise."

For a moment the king stood as if struck by the lightning he had just
referred to, then staggering back a step, rested his hand on the
parapet and steadied himself.

"Good God!" he muttered in low tones, "is that true?"

All coquetry disappeared from the girl as she saw the dramatic effect
her words had produced. She moved lightly forward, then held back
again, anxiety on her brow.

"Sir, what is wrong with you? Are you ill? Are you a friend of
Talbot's?"

"Yes, I am a friend of his."

"And did you not know this? I thought every one knew it. Does not the
King of Scotland know? What will he do when he learns, think you, or
will it make a difference?"

"The King of Scotland is a blind fool; a conceited coxcomb, who
thinks every woman that sees him must fall in love with him."

"Sir, you amaze me. Are you not a subject of his? You would not speak
so in his hearing."

"Indeed and that I would, without hesitation, and he knows it."

"Is he so handsome as they say? Alas, I am thought too young to engage
in court festivities, and in spite of my pleadings I was not allowed
even to see his arrival."

The king had now recovered his composure, and there was a return of
his gallant bearing.

"Madam, tell me your name, and I shall intercede that so rigid a rule
for one so fair may be relaxed."

"Ah, now your impudence reasserts itself. My name is not for you. How
can a humble Scottish knight hope to soften a rule promulgated by the
King of France himself?"

"Madam, you forget that we are guests of France, and in this courteous
country nothing is denied us. We meet with no refusals except from
proud ladies like yourself. I shall ask my captain, he shall pass my
request to the general, who will speak to the King of Scotland, and
the king, when he knows how beautiful you are, will beg the favour
from Francis himself."

The girl clasped her hands with exuberant delight.

"I wonder if it is possible," she said, leaning towards the gay
cavalier, as if he were now her dearest friend--for indeed it was
quite evident that she thought much of him in spite of his irregular
approach. She was too young to feel the rules of etiquette otherwise
than annoying bonds, and like an imprisoned wild bird, was willing to
take any course that promised liberty.

"Your name, then, madam?"

"My name is Madeleine."

"I need not ask if you are noble."

"I am at least as noble as Mary of Vendome, wh