s choir. These wonderful vocalists from the
Sistine Chapel astonished the French court with melody and harmony
such as had never been heard in the Louvre before.

Olympia had a younger sister, Mary, fifteen years of age. She had come
from her school in a convent to witness the marriage festivities. The
music and the impressive scene affected the artless child deeply, and
her tears flowed freely. The king, surrounded by the brilliant
beauties of his court, accidentally caught sight of this child. Though
not beautiful, there was something in her unaffected attitude, her
tears, her entire absorption in the scene, which arrested his
attention.

Mary had early developed so bold, independent, and self-reliant a
spirit as to induce her father, on his death-bed, to entreat Madame de
Mancini to compel her to take the veil. In compliance with this
injunction, Mary had been placed in a convent until she should attain
the fitting age to assume the irrevocable vows. Thus trained in
seclusion, and with no ambitious aspirations, she had acquired a
character of perfect simplicity, and her countenance bore an
expression of intelligence and sensibility far more attractive than
ordinary beauty. A contemporaneous writer says,

"Her movements, her manners, and all the bearing of her person were
the result of a nature guided by grace. Her look was tender, the
accents of her voice were enchanting. Her genius was great,
substantial, and extensive, and capable of the grandest conceptions.
She wrote both good prose and pleasing poetry; and Mary Mancini, who
shone in a courtly letter, was equally capable of producing a
political or state dispatch. She would not have been unworthy of the
throne if among us great merit had been entitled to obtain it."

The king inquired her name. Upon learning that she was a niece of the
cardinal, and a sister of Olympia, he desired that she might be
presented to him.

Mary was an enthusiast. The young king was very handsome, very
courtly, and a perfect master of all the phrases of gallantry. Mary
fell in love with him, without knowing it, at first sight. It was not
the _monarch_ which had won her, but the _man_, of exquisitely
symmetrical proportions, so princely in his bearing, so fascinating in
his address. The young schoolgirl returned to her convent with the
image of the king indelibly engraven on her heart. The few words which
passed between them interested the king, for every word she said bore
the im