, and something in her free and
noble port and the smiling arrogance of her manner recalled the aspect
of her distant kinswoman, the young Queen of France. She plied Odo with
a hundred questions, interrupting his answers with a playful abruptness,
and to all appearances more engaged by his person than his discourse.

"Have you seen my son?" she asked. "I remember you a little boy scarce
bigger than Ferrante, whom your mother brought to kiss my hand in the
very year of my marriage. Yes--and you pinched my toy spaniel, sir, and
I was so angry with you that I got up and turned my back on the
company--do you remember? But how should you, being such a child at the
time? Ah, cousin how old you make me feel! I would to God my son looked
as you did then; but the Duke is killing him with his nostrums. The
child was healthy enough when he was born; but what with novenas and
touching of relics and animal magnetism and electrical treatment,
there's not a bone in his little body but the saints and the surgeons
are fighting over its possession. Have you read 'Emile,' cousin, by the
new French author--I forget his name? Well, I would have the child
brought up like 'Emile,' allowed to run wild in the country and grow up
sturdy and hard as a little peasant. But what heresies am I talking! The
book is on the Index, I believe, and if my director knew I had it in my
library I should be set up in the stocks in the market-place and all my
court-gowns burnt at the Church door as a warning against the danger of
importing the new fashions from France!--I hope you hunt, cousin?" she
cried suddenly. "'Tis my chief diversion and one I would have my friends
enjoy with me. His Highness has lately seen fit to cut down my stables,
so that I have scarce forty saddle-horses to my name, and the greater
part but sorry nags at that; yet I can still find a mount for any friend
that will ride with me and I hope to see you among the number if the
Duke can spare you now and then from mass and benediction. His Highness
complains that I am always surrounded by the same company; but is it my
fault if there are not twenty persons at court that can survive a day in
the saddle and a night at cards? Have you seen the Belverde, my mistress
of the robes? She follows the hunt in a litter, cousin, and tells her
beads at the death! I hope you like cards too, cousin, for I would have
all my weaknesses shared by my friends, that they may be the less
disposed to criticise the