l women in France, in every lovely-coloured tint
that dress could assume: their bosoms, arms, and hair sparkling with
jewels; their gossamer ruffs surrounding their necks like fairy wings;
their light laugh mingling with the music, as they sat, stood, or walked
in graceful attitudes conversing with one another or with the cavaliers,
whose brilliant velvet and jewels fifty mixed with their bright
array. These were the sirens he had heard of, the 'squadron of the
Queen-mother,' the dangerous beings against whom he was to steel
himself. And which of them was the child he had played with, to whom
his vows had been plighted? It was like some of the enchanting dreams
of romance merely to look at these fair creatures; and he stood as if
gazing into a magic-glass till Sir Francis Walsingham, looking round for
him, said, 'Come, then, my young friend, you must do your devoirs to the
Queens. Sidney, I see, is as usual in his element; the King has seized
upon him.'

Catherine de Medicis was seated on a large velvet chair, conversing with
the German ambassador. Never beautiful, she appeared to more advantage
in her mature years than in her girlhood, and there was all the dignity
of a lifetime of rule in demeanour and gestures, the bearing of her
head, and motion of her exquisite hands. Her eyes were like her son's,
prominent, and gave the sense of seeing all round at once, and her smile
was to the highest degree engaging. She received the young Baron de
Ribaumont far more graciously than Charles has done, held out her hand
to be kissed, and observed 'that the young gentleman was like Madame _sa
mere_ whom she well remembered as much admired. Was it true that she was
married in England?'

Berenger bowed assent.

'Ah! You English make good spouses,' she said, with a smile. 'Ever
satisfied with home! But, your Excellency,' added she, turning to
Walsingham, 'what stones would best please my good sister for the
setting of the jewel my son would send her with his portrait? He is
all for emeralds, for the hue of hope; but I call it the colour of
jealousy.'

Walsingham made a sign that Berenger had better retreat from hearing
the solemn coquetting carried on by the maiden Queen through her gravest
ambassadors. He fell back, and remained watching the brilliant throng,
trying in vain to discover the bright merry eyes and velvet cheek he
remembered of old. Presently a kind salutation interrupted him, and a
gentleman who perceived him to b