e a stranger began to try to set him at
ease, pointed out to him the handsome, foppishly-dressed Duke of Anjou,
and his ugly, spiteful little brother of Alengon, then designated as
Queen Elizabeth's future husband, who was saying something to a lady
that made her colour and bite her lips. 'Is that the younger Queen?'
asked Berenger, as his eye fell on a sallow, dark-complexioned,
sad-looking little creature in deep mourning, and with three or four
such stately-looking, black-robed, Spanish-looking duennas round her as
to prove her to be a person of high consequence.

'That? Oh no; that is Madame Catherine of Navarre, who has resided
here ever since her mother's death, awaiting her brother, our royal
bridegroom. See, here is the bride, Madame Marguerite, conversing with
M. de Guise.'

Berenger paid but little heed to Marguerite's showy but already rather
coarse beauty, and still asked where was the young Queen Elizabeth of
Austria. She was unwell, and not in presence. 'Ah! then,' he said, 'her
ladies will not be here.'

'That is not certain. Are you wishing to see any one of them?'

'I would like to see----' He could not help colouring till his cheeks
rivaled the colour of his sword-knot. 'I want just to know if she is
here. I know not if she be called Madame or Mademoiselle de Ribaumont.'

'The fair Ribaumont! Assuredly; see, she is looking at you. Shall I
present you?'

A pair of exceedingly brilliant dark eyes were fixed on Berenger with
a sort of haughty curiosity and half-recognition. The face was handsome
and brilliant, but he felt indignant at not perceiving a particle of a
blush at encountering him, indeed rather a look of amusement at the deep
glow which his fair complexion rendered so apparent. He would fain have
escaped from so public an interview, but her eye was upon him, and there
was no avoiding the meeting. As he moved nearer he saw what a beautiful
person she was, her rich primrose-coloured dress setting off her
brunette complexion and her stately presence. She looked older than he
had expected; but this was a hotbed where every one grew up early, and
the expression and manner made him feel that an old intimacy was here
renewed, and that they were no strangers.

'We need no introduction, cousin,' she said, giving a hand to be
saluted. 'I knew you instantly. It is the old face of Chateau Leurre,
only gone up so high and become so handsome.'

'Cousins,' thought he. 'Well, it makes things easier! b