e
princes of this earth as Olympic deities, for assuredly no goddess was
ever more beautiful. Though care and grief and humiliation had already
touched her, though there were fine lines around the proudly curving
lips and an anxious shadow in the large eyes, her complexion was still
transcendently brilliant, her figure still youthful and marvellously
graceful, and there was that in her carriage and glance that attracted
all eyes. She was dressed in a silver gauze embroidered in laurier roses
so cunningly wrought that they looked as if fresh plucked and scattered
over the lacy fabric. Her hair, which was worn simply--she had set the
fashion for less extravagance in the style of head-dress--was piled up
in lightly powdered coils, ornamented only with a feather and a star of
brilliants.

"Ainsi, Monsieur, vous connaissez notre cher de Lafayette" (she hated
and feared him) "et tout jeune que vous etes vous avez deja vu la
guerre--la mort, la victorie, et la deroute!" She spoke with a certain
sadness, and Calvert, bowing low again, and speaking only indifferent
French in his agitation, told her that under Lafayette it had been "la
mort et la victoire," but never defeat.

She glanced around the assemblage. "Monsieur de Lafayette is not come
to-night," she said, coldly, to the young man, and then, with a sudden
accession of interest, she went on: "We heard much of that America of
yours from him when he returned from your war" ('twas she herself who
had obtained his forgiveness from the King and a command for him in the
Roi Dragons). "I think he loves it and your General Washington better
than he does his own King and country," she said, smiling a little
bitterly. "Is it, then, so beautiful a country?"

"Tis a very beautiful and a very grateful country, Your Majesty,"
replied Calvert. "America desires nothing so much as to do some service
for Your Majesty in return for all the benefits and assistance France
has rendered her."

"We are glad to know that she is grateful. Ingratitude is the last of
vices," said the Queen, quietly, looking at the young man with a sombre
light in her beautiful eyes. "But, indeed, we fear France hath given her
something she can never repay," and she passed on with the King.
Together they walked the length of the salon between the ranks of
courtiers, after which they mingled freely and without formality with
their guests. Though it was easy to see that the Queen was suffering, so
charming and eas