x--I say alone, for that handsome young soldier is a mere statue,
since he seems not to have the use of his limbs, and I am given
to understand he wants that of his tongue, at least in civilized
language--I say, since no one but this lady can understand us, I must
own there is nothing I have regretted equal to taking this French
journey. I looked for a splendid reception, tournaments, carousals,
pageants, and festivals; instead of which, all has been seclusion and
obscurity! and the best society whom the King introduced to us, was a
Bohemian vagabond, by whose agency he directed us to correspond with
our friends in Flanders.--Perhaps," said the lady, "it is his politic
intention to mew us up here until our lives' end, that he may seize on
our estates, after the extinction of the ancient house of Croye. The
Duke of Burgundy was not so cruel; he offered my niece a husband, though
he was a bad one."

"I should have thought the veil preferable to an evil husband," said the
Princess, with difficulty finding opportunity to interpose a word.

"One would at least wish to have the choice, madam," replied the voluble
dame. "It is, Heaven knows, on account of my niece that I speak; for
myself, I have long laid aside thoughts of changing my condition. I see
you smile, but by my halidome, it is true--yet that is no excuse for the
King, whose conduct, like his person, hath more resemblance to that
of old Michaud, the moneychanger of Ghent, than to the successor of
Charlemagne."

"Hold!" said the Princess, with some asperity in her tone; "remember you
speak of my father."

"Of your father!" replied the Burgundian lady, in surprise.

"Of my father," repeated the Princess, with dignity, "I am Joan of
France.--But fear not, madam," she continued, in the gentle accent which
was natural to her, "you designed no offence, and I have taken none.
Command my influence to render your exile and that of this interesting
young person more supportable. Alas! it is but little I have in my
power, but it is willingly offered."

Deep and submissive was the reverence with which the Countess Hameline
de Croye, so was the elder lady called, received the obliging offer of
the Princess's protection. She had been long the inhabitant of courts,
was mistress of the manners which are there acquired, and held firmly
the established rule of courtiers of all ages, who, although their usual
private conversation turns upon the vices and follies of their patrons