iderable share in creating it.

At length, a door actually creaked and jingled (for the doors even
of palaces did not in the fifteenth century turn on their hinges so
noiseless as ours); but, alas! it was not at that end of the hall from
which the lute had been heard. It opened, however, and a female figure
entered, followed by two others, whom she directed by a sign to remain
without, while she herself came forward into the hall. By her imperfect
and unequal gait, which showed to peculiar disadvantage as she traversed
this long gallery, Quentin at once recognised the Princess Joan, and
with the respect which became his situation, drew himself up in an
attitude of silent vigilance, and lowered his weapon to her as she
passed. She acknowledged the courtesy by a gracious inclination of
her head, and he had an opportunity of seeing her countenance more
distinctly than he had in the morning.

There was little in the features of this ill fated Princess to atone for
the misfortune of her shape and gait. Her face was, indeed, by no means
disagreeable in itself, though destitute of beauty; and there was a
meek impression of suffering patience in her large blue eyes, which
were commonly fixed upon the ground. But besides that she was extremely
pallid in complexion, her skin had the yellowish discoloured tinge which
accompanies habitual bad health; and though her teeth were white and
regular, her lips were thin and pale. The Princess had a profusion of
flaxen hair, but it was so light coloured as to be almost of a bluish
tinge; and her tire woman, who doubtless considered the luxuriance of
her mistress's tresses as a beauty, had not greatly improved matters by
arranging them in curls around her pale countenance, to which they added
an expression almost corpse-like and unearthly. To make matters still
worse, she had chosen a vest or cymar of a pale green silk, which gave
her, on the whole, a ghastly and even spectral appearance.

While Quentin followed this singular apparition with eyes in which
curiosity was blended with compassion, for every look and motion of the
Princess seemed to call for the latter feeling, two ladies entered from
the upper end of the apartment.

One of these was the young person who upon Louis's summons had served
him with fruit, while Quentin made his memorable breakfast at the Fleur
de Lys. Invested now with all the mysterious dignity belonging to the
nymph of the veil and lute, and proved, besides (at