Oxford Democrat. [volume] (Paris, Me.) 1833-1933, 1901-06-18
Nymph and dryad and goddess have

one addressing ner, look the OppOr-
tunity to slip away and move up to my
seat Of privilege, a cushion near the
still empty chair Of the king. On my
way l had to pass the Medicis. She
was seated, watching the dance, sur
rounded by some ladies. At her side
stood Diana Of Vale.tinois, with that
marvellous face on which time could
leave no trace. The duchess smiled at
me as l bowed to her who was the
real queen Of France and knelt to her
who was queen but In name, to that
wonderful woman whom we then
thought to be but mere stolid piece
of humanity, whom we, because we
were fools, looked upon with sort
Of plying contempt. But a day came
when she dropped the mask that had
covered her for five and twenty years,
and then we found out. While I write
this I can almost see the grisly
trophies over the Gate of Good Men. 1
can almost hear again the harsh clang
from the belfry Of st. Germain PAuxer.
rois that summoned Paris to the mas
sacre.
AS l rose from my knees before the
queen-she had but given me a look
from her dark, unfathomable eyes
Catherine turned to the duchess, say
ing, with a slight sneer:
81 see nothing to admire in her. But
all your French heads have been turn
ed by that little Scotch queenlet."
"French heads, your majesty, can
but see with French eyes," answered
Diana, and the queen bit her lip. But
now the folding doors to our right were
flung open by the ushers in violet and
gold, and the king appeared. BY his
side was the constable and around and
behind him brilliant group. among
whom were De Vielleville and st.
Andre, while towering above the 9TH
ers was the grim figure Of the cardinal
Of Lorraine. For II mom< they stood
watching the dance and then came
slowly forward. AS Henri approached
his seat the dancers stopped and bowed
to him, and, walking up to Mary of
Scotland, the king kissed her on the
cheek, saying kindly:
my daughter, the roses you carry
here bear the palm from those you
have gathered in that nosegay. Par
dieu," he continued, with laugh,
while Mary's face grew scarlet with
pleasure, 'is there no knight here who
can turn rondel to these roses? What
say you, my cousin Of the kingdom of
folly"
There was a general laugh, but l was
tongue tied and could say nothing. But
the constable, with the rough gallantry
of bear, was ready with Il speech.
81 cannot use the pen," he cried;
"but, old as am, will try in the next
war to write verse with my sword on
Spanish helmets"
A buzz arose Mt the words. There
may perhaps have been yelled threat
concealed in them; l know not But
buzz and murmur were stilled by q
voice, nasal, discordant and harsh,
which rang through the room.
II protest, your majesty! l protest In
the name Of my master, the king Of
Spain! France and Spain are at peace
It was Chantonnay, the Spanish EN-
bassador, and, tall, somber robed and
thin, with the star of st. James ut his
neck, he stepped forward from the
group behind the king and stood facing
Montmorenci, a sinister smile playing
on his lips.
It was an awkward moment. From
under his bushy white eyebrows the
constable glared back at his adversary,
and the king looked from one to anoth'
er Of them, annoyance and vexatlon
stamped upon his features.
81 protest" the ambassador repeated
again, with his strange, nasal intona'
ton, his white fingers playing with the
star at his neck.
Montmorenci's hand began to finger
the glove he held. The stout old soldier
knew but one answer to make at such
a moment, when the Medicis spoke IN
her calm, passionless voice:
"My lords, it seems but light mat.
ter for all these frowns to lower-all
about a rose! Put aside these dark
looks, l pray you, and let us hear the
song the king has commanded. VIII
no one touch lute?"
The constable's glove slipped back
over his hand, and Chantonnay bowed
low to the queen. Still there was no an
swer to her request, and there was
strained silence.
Suddenly q voice-it was that of the
Phnnix-called out:
"Le Brusquetw
The cry was caught up at once, with
a clapping of hands, and "Le Brusquet!
LIE Brusquetw echoed through the hail.
I met my queens eyes. She was smil'
ing with the rest, and then the kings
voice came to me:
"You are named, my cousin"
1t had to be, but as slipped the
broad yellow ribbon from my shoulders
and took the lutte in my hands felt my
heart beat, my fingers tremble and my
voice fail me. Twice l struck the
chords, but the song would not come,
and then met her eyes again and was
strong, and the TESTERS voice rang out
full and clear, but 1t was the knights
heart that spoke:
"Come! Choose me flower from out thy bowefl
White blows the lily, but red the rose.
Come! Choose me flower from out thy bowerV'
Belle Mabel she plucked him Q red, red rose.
"Lo, here is q flower. the queen Of my eowef'
Pale white is the lily, but red the rose
I dub thee my knight. In the hour OF light
Ride ever for right and the red. red rose"
"ror God and my lady, my queen OF Already,
No shield will bear but this red, red rose.
In charge or In rally, in siege or in sally =,
The Paynim shall shrink at the red, RED rose
"Ioi The night is unfOlden. the moonlight u
golden; Ia,
the rose. a., ..
10, the night is uniolden. the moonlight u
goldeni A..
90, king Of my heart and my knight 0! the
rose!''
I brought my song to q close with q
flourish on the lutte strings. For III
tie there was q hush, and then low
murmur arose that swelled to tumuit
Of applause. Kind faces pressed
around me- there were kind voices In
nv ears, but heard them not"-the
place was gone from me-and for q
space I was in a edreamland OF my