to her care, that their keepers might with more ease
throw themselves into the _melee_. Her face lighted up as she saw the
Baron de Ribaumont arrive.

'Ah, sir, Madame will be so happy that I have seen Monsieur once more,'
she exclaimed under her breath, as he approached her.

'Alas! there is not a moment to write,' he said, looking at the vehicle,
already fast filling, 'but give her these flowers; they were gathered
for her; give her ten thousand thanks for her token. Tell her to hold
firm, and that neither king nor queen, bolt nor bar, shall keep me from
her. Tell her, our watchword is HOPE.'

The sharp eyes of the duenna of the Queen's household, a rigid Spanish
dame, were already searching for stray members of her flock, and
Veronique had to hurry to her place, while Berenger remained to hatch
new plans, each wilder than the last, and torment himself with guesses
whether his project had been discovered. Indeed, there were moments when
he fancied the frustration of his purpose the special object of Queen
Catherine's journey, but he had the wisdom to keep any such suggestion
to himself.

The King came back by supper-time, looking no longer in a state of
indecision, but pale and morose. He spoke to no one as he entered, and
afterwards took his place at the head of the supper-table in silence,
which he did not break till the meal was nearly over. Then he said
abruptly, 'Gentlemen, our party has been broken up, and I imagine that
after our great hunt tomorrow, no one will have any objection to return
to Paris. We shall have merrier sport at Fontainebleau when this most
troublesome of weddings is over.'

There was nothing to be done but to bow acquiescence, and the King again
became grimly silent. After supper he challenged Coligny to a game of
chess, and not a word passed during the protracted contest, either from
the combatants or any other person in the hall. It was as if the light
had suddenly gone out to others besides the disappointed and anxious
Berenger, and a dull shadow had fallen on the place only yesterday so
lively, joyous, and hopeful.

Berenger, chained by the etiquette of the royal presence, sat like a
statue, his back against the wall, his arms crossed on his breast, his
eyes fixed, chewing the cud of the memories of his dream of bliss, or
striving to frame the future to his will, and to decide what was the
next reasonable step he could take, or whether his irrepressible longing
to ride straight of