ance of the crowned Queen. On the Monday, Henry, postponing likewise
for two days his original plan of departure, would leave for the army.

Meantime there were petty annoyances connected with the details of the
coronation. Henry had set his heart on having his legitimatized children,
the offspring of the fair Gabrielle, take their part in the ceremony on
an equal footing with the princes of the blood. They were not entitled to
wear the lilies of France upon their garments, and the King was
solicitous that "the Count"--as Soissons, brother of Prince Conti and
uncle of Conde, was always called--should dispense with those ensigns for
his wife upon this solemn occasion, and that the other princesses of the
blood should do the same. Thus there would be no appearance of
inferiority on the part of the Duchess of Vendome.

The Count protested that he would have his eyes torn out of his head
rather than submit to an arrangement which would do him so much shame. He
went to the Queen and urged upon her that to do this would likewise be an
injury to her children, the Dukes of Orleans and of Anjou. He refused
flatly to appear or allow his wife to appear except in the costume
befitting their station. The King on his part was determined not to
abandon his purpose. He tried to gain over the Count by the most splendid
proposals, offering him the command of the advance-guard of the army, or
the lieutenancy-general of France in the absence of the King, 30,000
crowns for his equipment and an increase of his pension if he would cause
his wife to give up the fleurs-de-lys on this occasion. The alternative
was to be that, if she insisted upon wearing them, his Majesty would
never look upon him again with favourable eyes.

The Count never hesitated, but left Paris, refusing to appear at the
ceremony. The King was in a towering passion, for to lose the presence of
this great prince of the blood at a solemnity expressly intended as a
demonstration against the designs hatching by the first of all the
princes of the blood under patronage of Spain was a severe blow to his
pride and a check to his policy.'

Yet it was inconceivable that he could at such a moment commit so
superfluous and unmeaning a blunder. He had forced Conde into exile,
intrigue with the enemy, and rebellion, by open and audacious efforts to
destroy his domestic peace, and now he was willing to alienate one of his
most powerful subjects in order to place his bastards on a leve