s mouth. 'Here the king came to look upon the corpse of the once
mighty Henri le Balafre, and spurned it with his foot, saying, I shall
not translate it for you, Mat,--"_Je ne le croyais pas aussi grand_" and
then ordered it to be burnt, and the ashes cast into the river. Remember
the date, I implore you, December 23, 1588.'

As Amanda paused for breath the little man took the word, and rattled
off a jumble of facts and fictions about the window from which Marie de
Medicis lowered herself when imprisoned here by her dutiful son, Louis
XIII.

'I wish the entire lot had been tossed out after her, for I do think
kings and queens are a set of rascals,' cried Mat, scandalized by the
royal iniquities to which she had been listening, till the hair stood
erect upon her innocent head.

The Salle des Etats was being prepared for the trial of the men who had
lately attempted the Emperor's life, and a most theatrical display of
justice was to be presented to the public. The richly carved stair-case,
with Francis the First's salamanders squirming up and down it, was a
relic worth seeing; but the parched pilgrims found the little pots of
clotted cream quite as interesting, and much more refreshing, when they
were served up at lunch (the pots, not the pilgrims), each covered with
a fresh vine-leaf, and delicately flavoured with butter-cups and
clover.

Amanda won the favour of the stately _garcon_ by praising them warmly,
and he kept bringing in fresh relays, and urging her to eat a third, a
fourth, with a persuasive dignity hard to resist.

'But yes, Mademoiselle, one more, for nowhere else can _creme de St.
Gervais_ be achieved. They are desired, ardently desired, in Paris; but,
alas! it is impossible to convey them so far, such is their exquisite
delicacy.'

How many the appreciative ladies consumed, the muse saith not; but the
susceptible heart of the great _garcon_ was deeply touched, and it was
with difficulty that they finally escaped from his attentions.

On being presented with a cast-off camp-stool, and a pair of old boots
to dispose of, he instantly appropriated them as graceful souvenirs,
and clasping his hands, declared with effusion that he would seat his
infant upon the so-useful stool, and offer the charming boots to Madame
my wife, who would weep for joy at this touching _tableau_.

With this melodramatic valedictory, he suffered the guests to depart,
and the last they saw of him, he was still waving a dirty