# Francesca Carrara/Chapter 24

CHAPTER XXIV.
———"The comic triumphs and the spoils Of sly Derision—still on every side Hurling the random bolts." Akenside.
Francesca would have been not a little astonished could she have known with what curiosity her arrival was anticipated that night in the royal circle. Already the history of the bracelet had reached the Queen's ear, with every possible variation and addition that human ingenuity, heightened by human envy, could devise. Perhaps of these Marie's version was the most covertly bitter; and poor Francesca appeared with a degree of artifice and coquetry about as far removed from her real nature as it was from the real case. But Anne of Austria, like most in her station, had singular tact in detecting the true and the false. The ear long accustomed to, and therefore on its guard against, dissimulation, often catches the fact from slight indications which would pass unnoticed by the common observer. Still, she too ​had some desire to note what effect the present honour, and still more, brilliant fancies, would produce on a character whose simplicity and nature she had discerned at a glance. The truth was, that Francesca was perfectly fancy free; she saw nothing in the King's action but the most genuine kindness; she was very grateful, and there, to her thought, the matter ended.
When they entered the royal apartment, Louis was at one end, entirely engrossed by Mademoiselle Mancini, while the Queen and her immediate circle, which they joined, was at the other. Marie had completely changed her plan; she saw that the higher game was not in her hands; the King was not, and would not, be in love with her; but she amused him, and, by a little skilful management and flattery, could contrive to occupy his attention quite enough to alarm his mother; "And I shall be brilliantly married," thought she, "by way of security." It may be questioned whether Guido ever even entered her head; love never lasts with a temper like hers; a first lover was welcome rather as an omen of future triumph than for his own sake. The sentiment of such a heart is dew, that exhales with the earliest sunbeam.
The group round Anne were busily employed in dissecting the Swedish Queen, who had departed ​that morning, her éclat a little tarnished by an overlong visit, and by an indiscreet patronage of Marie Mancini's fascinations. An idol must be picked to pieces before it is discovered to be but wood and stone. An affected inattention, and a grave smile from the Queen, reassured De Joinville as to the success of his mimicry, and Francesca was certainly the only one who stood perfectly dismayed at the sudden change from flattery to sarcasm. So eagerly was the discourse carried on, that not one perceived the Queen, who was moving round, drop her glove; it fell close to Francesca, who, drawing off her own, picked it up, and presented it. In so doing, Anne's quick eye discovered that she had no bracelet on; like all artful people, she suspected artifice, and immediately supposed that Francesca feared to wear the gem in her presence.
"My beautiful simplicity has then," thought the Queen, "deeper designs than I suspected, and is unwilling to let me see aught that can excite suspicion." "How is this," continued she aloud, "that the Signora Carrara does not honour my son by wearing his gift?"
Francesca was dismayed; this was a difficulty which she had not foreseen. Even the consciousness of right does not always support us; and to ​increase her consternation, Louis had joined the circle, while the eyes of every one were turned upon her. Colouring till the tears glistened on her long dark lashes, in a low, faltering whisper she stammered, "I have it not."
"Have you lost it?" demanded the Queen.
"No, madame."
"Then why did you not wear it to-night?"
"It is mine no longer," replied the young Italian.
"Surely," rejoined Anne, who was already offended that such a gift should have been lightly held, "you cannot have given it to any friend?"
"O no!" was the eager answer.
"Then what have you done with it?"
"I offered it at the shrine of Our Lady, in the chapel of the Valley."
"Now, the blessed Virgin forbid I should grudge aught to her altar," exclaimed Louis, with evident displeasure, "but methinks, the piety was ill-timed."
"Who knows," observed Mademoiselle Mancini with a sneer, "what idea la Signora might attach to the gift; perhaps it needed a little expiation."
"We cannot tell for what tender interests it was to plead," added the Chevalier de Joinville.
​ With a cold and indifferent air the Queen turned away, when Francesca, regardless of form in the excitement of the moment, sank on her knees before her. "I cannot endure this imputation of being thankless for kindness so gracious and so precious. Madame, I have an only and beloved brother, delicate from infancy, and parted from me for the first time in our life—parted from me on a long and dangerous journey. When the lottery commenced yesterday evening, I vowed within my heart, that whatever became mine should be offered to the Madonna, with my earnest prayers for his safety. I felt almost, in having nothing to offer, that my tribute had been, as it were, rejected; and when, by the most unexpected chance, the beautiful bracelet became mine, could I, dared I, not fulfil my precious vow? Was I the less grateful, because I put the gift to its most worthy use?"
There was not one kindly feeling in the Queen but what was touched by the youthful stranger's narrative; she raised her, saying, "And so, my poor child, you thought we were angry—the blessed Virgin forbid! We could wish her shrine as well served by others young as yourself."
Look and word at once changed all round, and not a few found themselves growing most ​suddenly devout. Just then, an attendant to whom the Queen had whispered returned; and taking a small case from her hand, Anne produced a bracelet somewhat similar to the very one with which Francesca had parted, excepting that it had her cipher, surrounded by a wreath of fleurs-de-lis. "Louis, will you offer this to Mademoiselle Carrara?"
The young King again fastened the clasp on Francesca's arm. "I hope you have no more vows to pay?" said he, smiling.
Francesca could not have spoken, had it been to save her life; but there are cases in which silence is very eloquence.
"My dearest child," exclaimed Madame de Mercœur, "How I enjoyed your triumph! But do, pray, remember that royal gifts are meant to he kept. I must say, however, that the Madonna stood your friend to-night; and I am sure you deserved it."
Triumph it might be—it certainly was; but Francesca enjoyed it not as such. Injustice is so revolting to the young—they hear of it, they think of it, they believe in its existence, but always as of that which cannot affect themselves. It is a bitter lesson that which first brings it home. Many a moment of feverish unrest did that night ​bring to Francesca's pillow; she questioned, she blamed herself—what could she have done that the whole company appeared so to rejoice in her pain? Why should they dislike her—what offence could she have given? With what increased gratitude did she turn to the Queen's kindness! It would have yielded her small pleasure, could she have known that, beyond the momentary impulse, that kindness was, of all, the most deceitful.
No marvel that we regret our youth. Let its bloom, let its health, let its pleasures depart, could they but leave behind the singleness and the innocence of the happy and the trusting heart. The lessons of experience may open the eyes; but, as in the northern superstition, they only open to see dust and clay, where they once beheld the beauty of palaces.