that Madame la Dauphine did strange things. The road
was stony and bare and treeless, unfrequented at first, and it was very
sultry, the sun shining with a heavy melting heat on Margaret's weighty
garments; but she hurried on, never feeling the heat, or hearing
Linette's endeavours to draw her attention to the heavy bank of gray
clouds tinged with lurid red gradually rising, and whence threatening
growls of thunder were heard from time to time. She really seemed to
rush forward, and poor, panting Linette toiled after her, feeling ready
to drop, while the way was as yet unobstructed, as the two beautiful
steeples of the Cathedral and Notre Dame de l'Epine rose before them;
but after a time, as they drew nearer, the road became obstructed by
carts, waggons, donkeys, crowded with country-folks and their wares,
with friars and ragged beggars, all pressing into the town, and jostling
one another and the two foot-passengers all the more as rain-drops began
to fall, and the thunder sounded nearer.

Margaret had been used to walking, but it was all within parks and
pleasances, and she was not at all used to being pushed about and
jostled. Linette knew how to make her way far better, and it was well
for them that their dark dresses and hoods and Linette's elderly face
gave the idea of their being votaresses of some sacred order, and so
secured them from actual personal insult; but as they clung together
they were thrust aside and pushed about, while the throng grew thicker,
the streets narrower, the storm heavier, the air more stifling and
unsavoury.

A sudden rush nearly knocked them down, driving them under a gargoyle,
whose spout was streaming with wet, and completed the drenching; but
there was a porch and an open door of a church close behind, and into
this Linette dragged her mistress. Dripping, breathless, bruised, she
leant against a pillar, not going forward, for others, much more gaily
dressed, had taken refuge there, and were chattering away, for little
reverence was paid at that date to the sanctity of buildings.

'Will the King be there, think you?' eagerly asked a young girl, who had
been anxiously wiping the wet from her pink kirtle.

'Certes--he is to give the prizes,' replied a portly dame in crimson.

'And the Lady of Beauty? I long to see her.'

'Her beauty is passing--except that which was better worth the solid
castle the King gave her,' laughed the stout citizen, who seemed to be
in charge of them.