In the great hall of the Louvre, the princes, the nobles, and the ladies of France—all who had a right, from their rank and station, to be present at the great festivals of the court, and all who could by any means obtain an invitation from the king himself—were assembled before the hour of ten at night, on that occasion to which reference has been made in the last chapter. The monarch himself had not yet appeared; but one of those services which Henry principally required from his great officers was to entertain with affability and kindness those whom the etiquette of his court obliged him to keep waiting; and, on the night of which we speak, the famous Marquis de Vieilleville in fact, though not ostensibly, represented the king, and, aided by a number of other gentlemen and officers commissioned so to do, received the court, and endeavoured to make the time of expectation ere the sovereign's arrival pass lightly.

Everything had been done that could be done to give splendour to the apartments, and many of those ornaments and decorations which we attribute to the taste of modern days, but which, in fact, have but come back again in the constant revolutions of fashion, were displayed on this occasion to render the scene of royal festivity bright and exciting. Some of the rooms were blazing with light, and covered with every sort of ornament of gold and silver: rich draperies were hanging from the walls, banners waving over head, garlands festooning the cornices, and music floating on the air. In others, again, by some means, a green hue had been given to the light, and it had been shaded and kept down to a kind of soft twilight by flowers and green branches; while a cool wind found its way in through open casements and well-watered plants, and a stillness reigned upon the air only broken by the far-off sound of the music, the murmur of distant voices, and the sighing of the night air through the gardens.

We shall pause no more, however, on the decorations of that gay scene, inasmuch as so to do would be merely to give description without an object; for we have no reason to assign why the reader should bear any part thereof in mind. It is principally with the great hall we have to do, but more especially still with the people that were in it. Shortly after ten the king himself, with his queen, the famous Catharine de Medicis, several of his children—among whom were three destined to be kings, and two queens of mighty nations—entered the hall, and took his place towards the head of the room.

It was very customary in those times to give the balls of the court in open day; and, though it certainly would strike us as somewhat strange to see dancing take place except by candlelight—unless, indeed, it were upon the greensward, where the smiling look of Nature herself seems to justify and to call for that exuberant life which she first taught in the world's young days—yet then as gay and as merry dances as any that we now behold, took place in the painted saloons, under the somewhat too bright and searching eye of the sun. The whole of that morning, however, had been spent in either business or in festivities of another kind, and the present was one of those more rare occasions selected, as we have said, for a ball at night.

Shortly after the king entered the room, he spoke a few words to the young Count Duilly, then celebrated for his skill and grace in the dance, and he, making his way to the spot where the musicians were placed, communicated to them the orders of the king. What was called the Danse Royale was then played; and Henry himself, graceful and distinguished in every sport and exercise, opened the ball in person. Shortly after, another dance was played; and all who were, or believed themselves to be, the most skilful of the court, hastened to figure in the galliarde. Upon the execution of that marvellous performance, the galliarde, however, perhaps the less we say the better; for it is to be acknowledged that the various names of the wonderful steps danced—the desportes, capriolles, turns and returns, fleurettes, close and dispersed gamberottes, &c.—convey as little definite idea of what was really done to our own mind as they would to the minds of most of our readers. It was all very successful, no doubt; and there is much reason to believe, from the account which Monsieur de Vieilleville himself wrote on the occasion, that many a young lady's heart was pierced through and through by the graces of particular cavaliers.

The king himself took part in the dance, as we have said, but it was a dignified part; and, having set the example, he retired from it as speedily as possible. When he had done he looked round, as if searching for some face he had missed, and his eye soon fell upon the fair Duchess of Valentinois, whom he had not beheld before; for, to say the truth, she had just entered, taking advantage of the general movement round the galliarde to come in without attracting much attention. Her countenance bore an expression of such unusual gravity, that Henry himself, ere he resumed the place in the saloon where he usually stood on such occasions, paused and spoke to her; first playfully scolding Henrietta de la Mark for not having joined the dancers, and then asking the duchess, in a lower tone, if anything had gone amiss.

Diana smiled, and replied, "No, sire, nothing exactly amiss; but I have had visiters this evening at an unusual hour, and they have been pressing me to obtain for them an audience of your majesty on this very night, regarding matters of much importance."

"Nay, why should that cloud your fair brow?" said the king, in the same low tone: "I will give them audience ere I go to bed, if my so doing will please you, bright queen of night. If they can put it off, however, let them come to-morrow, and your name shall open the doors of the cabinet to them, be they the lowliest in the land."

"That they are not, sire," replied Diana. "They are high enough to present themselves here this night even unbidden; but I fear that to-morrow will not do; for, upon your majesty's reply to them, a courier must depart at once for the South. Still let me say, ere they come forward—for I see them entering now—that it is not their requested audience that makes me somewhat grave; no, nor their pressing for it at an unseasonable hour, but it is that they come to urge upon your majesty the selfsame suit I urged this morning; and, as I then saw that for the first time I was doubted and suspected of art, in trying to lead rather than to argue with my king, it may now be thought I have some share in their coming, when, Heaven is my witness, it could take no one more by surprise than myself."

"Nay, but what is all this?" demanded the king, in a soothing tone; and then, suddenly turning to Mademoiselle de la Mark, he exclaimed, "Lo! Henriette—belle Henriette! here comes Damville, all love and ambergris, to claim your fair hand—for the dance. Go with him, lady! Now, Diana, what is this that agitates you thus? Faith, I suspect you not, and never have suspected. I did but smile this morning at your eagerness, though natural enough, and to see how we kings find soft leading, and all things prepared to bring us to that which wise or fair counsellors judge is for our good; it is the vice of power, my Diana, it is the vice of power! As men by years reach childhood again, so kings by power fall into weakness. But that matters not; your wishes were for the best; and, if there was a little management in the matter, there could be but small offence."

"With one so placable as you are, sire," rejoined the duchess, gazing in his face with a smile; "but the matter is this: There came to me this night the Lord of Masseran—one of your majesty's faithful adherents in Savoy—beseeching that I would obtain for him and for his fair lady immediate audience of your majesty on matters that brook no delay. He, judging wrongly that I had some little credit or influence with you, besought me to urge upon your majesty the immediate promulgation of the edict, so long delayed and often spoken of, concerning clandestine marriages, and besought me to tell you the cause of his application. All this I refused to do, telling him that on the subject of the edict I had already done my best; that I had pleaded for myself; that I had even pleaded in behalf of what I thought your majesty's best interest; and that, having done so, I could not say a word for any other being on the earth. Thus, sire, all I have to request is, that you would hear him and judge for yourself."

The expression of Henry's face while she was speaking puzzled not a little Diana of Poitiers. The king's brow became for a time dark and heavy, and his eye flashed angrily. But then, again, when he saw that the lady seemed somewhat alarmed by his look, he smiled upon her kindly, as if to mark that any feelings of dissatisfaction which he experienced were not directed towards herself. His real feelings were explained, however, immediately, by his replying in the same low tone, "He is, I believe, a most consummate villain, this Lord of Masseran; and there is good reason to suppose he has been playing false both to France and Savoy. He has the very look of a handsome wolf," the king continued, turning his frowning brow to the part of the room towards which the eyes of Diana of Poitiers directed his in search of the Lord of Masseran: "I will speak with him presently, however. Let him be taken into the white chamber, next to that in which they serve the confectionery. Send likewise for Bertrandi. He is in my closet. I will join you there in a quarter of an hour. A guard, too, may be wanted before we have done. So, as you pass, bid Beaujolais keep near the door."

Thus saying, the king turned away and occupied himself with other matters, speaking to the most distinguished persons present, and laughing gayly with many a fair dame as he passed along. The duchess remained for a short time where he had left her, not only for the purpose of preventing her long conversation with the king from connecting itself in the suspicions of those around with whatever might take place regarding the Lord of Masseran, but also because she had some doubts as to whether she should herself be present or not at the interview between the Savoyard nobleman and the king. Henry had certainly implied that she was to be present. But she had doubts and fears in regard to meddling too much with the matter; and, if she could have trusted to the Lord of Masseran, she certainly would have stayed away.

Trust him, however, she could not; for there was something in his whole aspect, demeanour, and tone which at once inspired suspicion. Indeed, he did not try to avoid it; for, looking upon skill, cunning, and acuteness as the greatest of human qualities, he made no pretence whatever to either frankness or sincerity. She still hesitated, however, when the Count de Meyrand, dressed in the most splendid, and, at the same time, the most tasteful habit that perhaps the whole court that night displayed, passed by her as he retired from the dance. He bowed as he did so with lowly reverence, but, at the same time, with a meaning glance of the eye towards the spot where the Lord of Masseran stood.

"I must watch what takes place myself," thought the duchess: "I will take no part in the matter unless there be great need; but I will watch all that is said and done."

She accordingly drew herself gradually back from the circle, and, choosing a moment when some change in the dance produced a momentary confusion, she retired to the room which the king had named.

A minute or two after, an attendant passed through the ballroom and whispered a few words to the Lord of Masseran, who instantly followed the servant, accompanied by a lady who had continued to stand beside him since his entrance, but to whom he had not addressed more than one or two words during the evening. She was a tall and handsome woman, and in her countenance there was certainly some degree of resemblance to the fair Isabel de Brienne. The features, however, though still fine, were all larger and harsher except the eyes, which were small and of a different colour from those of Isabel, being of a keen, eager black. She was pale, and looked somewhat out of health; and, mingling with an air of sternness which sat upon her brow, there was an expression of anxiety and grief which made her countenance a painful one to look upon. It seemed to bear written upon it, in very legible lines, the history of a haughty spirit broken.

When the Lord of Masseran and his wife reached the chamber to which the royal servant conducted them, the Duchess of Valentinois was there alone. She received them affably, but with somewhat of regal state, and begged the marchioness to seat herself, acting in all things as if the palace were her own.

"Is that note for me, Monsieur de Masseran?" she inquired, after having announced that the king would join them in a few minutes, and asked some questions of common courtesy regarding the health of the Marchioness of Masseran. "Is that note which you hold in your hand for me?"

"It is, madam," replied the other. "It is from Monsieur de Brienne, whom we left booted and spurred, with his horses at the door, ready to mount at a moment's notice."

The duchess took the note and read. "Madame," it ran, "I am ready promptly to set out for the frontier of Savoy as soon as my errand is clearly ascertained. My dear sister Isabel is either the wife of my earliest friend Bernard de Rohan, to whom she was promised by my father, and to whom it is my first wish she should be united, or the marriage which I understand has taken place is null. If she be his wife, Heaven forbid that I should make even an attempt to separate them, which I am sure De Rohan would instantly and justly resist. If, however, the king, by an edict which I must not dare to impugn, has thought fit, as I am told, to declare such marriages void, whether past or future, it, of course, becomes my duty immediately to seek my sister, and to keep her with me till such time as we obtain his majesty's permission for her final union to my friend. But I must first be positively certified that such an edict has been signed. If I can show this to De Rohan, I know him too well to doubt his conduct; but, if I cannot show it to him, I must not and dare not attempt measures towards him which he would infallibly resist. At the same time, madam, let me tell you, with all respect, that I find I have been trifled with; that false information regarding De Rohan's movements has been given me, in order to prevent my joining him at Grenoble, as he wished; and that I am certain my sister Isabel has been driven to give her hand thus suddenly to her promised husband by circumstances of which we are not aware."

"More good sense than I gave him credit for," said the duchess, musing.

"May I be permitted, madam, to see the note which has excited your admiration?" inquired the Lord of Masseran, with a quiet sneer.

"Nay, Monsieur de Masseran," answered the duchess, "it was not written for the public benefit."

"And, doubtless," continued the Lord of Masseran, "as the young gentleman was not in the sweetest of moods, it was not written for my private benefit either?"

"He never mentions your name, my lord," replied the duchess, "nor speaks of you in any way. But here comes my good lord the chancellor: the king will not be long."

Her prediction was verified, for Bertrandi had scarcely entered the room when Henry himself appeared, accompanied by his son, afterward Francis the Second, and followed by a page, who placed himself at the door to prevent any one from entering without permission. Every one present drew back as the king appeared, and bowed low; while, with a frowning brow, he crossed the cabinet, and seated himself at a small table. The dauphin then took a place upon his father's right hand, and the chancellor, after a deprecatory bow to the Duchess of Valentinois, advanced to the king's left.

"I grieve, madam," said Henry, addressing the Marchioness de Masseran, in a courteous tone, "I grieve to see you apparently so much altered in health. It would seem that the air of Savoy—that pure, fine air—suits not your constitution. We must keep you more with us in Paris."

"I have been suffering some anxiety and grief, sire," replied the lady, while the eyes of the Lord of Masseran were bent keenly and fiercely upon her.

"Most sorry am I to hear it," replied the king. "We believed that, in providing for you so noble and high a husband as the Lord of Masseran, we should have moved grief and anxiety from you altogether. We trust that we have not been deceived in this noble lord," continued the king, gazing sternly upon the Savoyard.

"Your majesty has, I believe, been mistaken in what this dear and excellent lady said," replied the Lord of Masseran; "I discovered no charge against myself in her words. Was there any, dear lady?"

"Oh, no," replied the lady, quickly, and, it seemed, fearfully; "none, none; I spoke alone of the grief and anxiety which, as you know, I came hither to lay before his majesty, if we were fortunate enough to find audience."

"Then I will beg you, madam," said the king, "to lay it before me at once, and fully, confiding in me entirely as you would in a brother, and remembering that, whoever be the offender, you have in the king one who can protect as well as punish, and who will protect wherever he sees wrong offered or evil suffered."

The lady gave a momentary glance at her husband, as if of timid inquiry. It was like a child saying its lesson, and looking up for a word of direction or encouragement. "I thank your majesty much," she said, "for your gracious promise, and I come to you with full confidence, feeling that you will grant me redress for what I consider a great injury. My complaint is this: that a gentleman of high rank and station, connected with some of the highest families of this realm, a distinguished soldier also, and one who has hitherto borne a high character—has, while pretending to carry on the war in Piedmont, and commanding certain bodies of your majesty's troops—has, I say, clandestinely carried away my daughter, Isabel de Brienne, during the temporary absence of my husband, Monsieur de Masseran. He had even induced a priest to perform the marriage ceremony between him and her, when the fortunate return of my husband at the very moment enabled him to seize them at the altar. I say, sire, that this is my complaint, and for this I beg redress; the more so, indeed, inasmuch as this very gentleman who has so acted was well aware that your majesty had expressed yourself strongly against such clandestine marriages, and had even proposed an edict declaring them void and of no effect."

"Pray who is this gentleman?" demanded the king, in a stern tone. "By your showing, madam, he has acted bitterly wrong, and, unless some extenuations appear, he shall be most severely punished; nor shall that punishment be the less on account of his rank, distinction, and services, as he could neither plead ignorance, inexperience, nor folly."

The features of the Lord of Masseran relaxed into a dark smile; and the lady replied, "His name, sire, was once dear and familiar to me and mine—it is Bernard, baron de Rohan."

"What! our good friend and daring captain?" exclaimed the king; "this is indeed too bad. Monsieur de Rohan ought to have known that he had nothing to do but to apply to ourself, not only at once to obtain our royal permission, but also to induce us to use every argument with such of the lady's family as might be opposed to his wishes."

"Sire," replied the lady, taking advantage of a pause in the king's answer, "this gentleman has acted ill in all respects. He neither put confidence in your majesty nor in me; he never even applied for my consent; he has never seen me since he crossed the Alps."

"This is altogether amiss," replied the king. "You say they are separated," he continued, in a musing tone; "where is the young lady? I would fain see and speak with her."

Such communication would not have suited the purposes of the Lord of Masseran, even had it been possible to produce Isabel of Brienne; and now, having seen his wife make her formal complaint exactly as he could have wished, he took the rest of the business out of her hands, fearful lest she might make some rash admission. "Alas! sire," he said, "it is impossible that your majesty's commands can be complied with; not only is the lady not with us in Paris, but she has escaped from the hands of those into whose charge I gave her. Where she is, and what doing, we know not; and it is under these circumstances that we come to your majesty, not so much for redress as for aid."

"This complicates the matter, indeed," said Henry; "have you, then, reason to suppose that she has rejoined him?"

"No, sire," replied the Lord of Masseran, "not so at all; for I ventured to take a step which—although, of course, on my own territories I am free and independent, as lord and sovereign—I would not have done, had I not been aware that your majesty is as just as you are powerful. I found one of your majesty's subjects upon my territories committing an unlawful act, for which I would have punished any of my own vassals with death, and I ventured—"

"You did not kill him?" exclaimed the king, starting.

"Oh no, sire, no," replied the Savoyard; "I never dreamed of such a thing. I ventured to arrest and imprison him, in order to prevent the evil being carried farther; and, having done so, I set out immediately to cast myself at your majesty's feet, to inform you exactly how I had acted, to beg your forgiveness for having imprisoned one of your subjects, and to place the decision of his fate entirely in the hands of your majesty."

"You have acted well and wisely," replied the king; "and, such being the case, you shall not only have aid, but redress. The edict which renders such clandestine marriages null and void shall be signed this instant, and shall be registered by our Parliament to-morrow. My lord the cardinal, we trust that you come as well prepared this afternoon as you were this morning. Have you the edict with you now?"

"I have not, your majesty," replied Bertrandi; "but it is in your majesty's cabinet."

"Let it be brought instantly," said the king. "This new example of the fault which it is destined to amend, not only fully justifies the act, but also peremptorily requires the clause which remedies the evil just committed. Nor shall this be the only punishment which shall fall upon the head of him who has so far neglected what was due to himself and to us. He must be summoned to Paris immediately; and, in the mean time, means must also be taken to bring this refractory girl also to our court. Be quick, good cardinal, for we must not be long absent from the hall."

The dauphin listened to his father in silence, and with an air of deep reverence. "I trust, sire," he said, at length, as soon as he perceived that the king, having given his orders, was turning once more to address the Marquis of Masseran, "I trust that there are some circumstances in the case of Monsieur de Rohan which may mitigate your majesty's anger when known. It seems to me that Monsieur de Masseran has not been completely explicit on one or two subjects; may I presume to ask him a few questions in your majesty's presence?"

"Certainly, Francis," replied the king. "It gives me always pleasure to see you exercise your judgment and powers of mind on subjects of importance."

The young prince bowed with an ingenuous blush, while the Marquis of Masseran turned a shade paler than usual, and bent down his eyes upon the ground before the boy of sixteen, who now advanced a step to question him. "You tell us, Monsieur le Marquis," he said, "that the Baron de Rohan did not even apply for the consent of your fair lady: may I ask if he ever presented himself at your palace, or chateau, or whatever it may be, for the purpose of so doing?"

"It was the marchioness who said so, not I," replied the Lord of Masseran: "I was absent at the time."

"At what time?" demanded the prince, sharply; and, seeing the Savoyard hesitate, he added, "Did or did not Monsieur de Rohan come to your gates? and was he or was he not refused admission?"

"I believe he did," said the Marquis of Masseran, "I believe he did present himself at the gates when I was absent."

"He himself believed that you were not absent," replied the youth, with royal sternness, while the king felt no little surprise to find that his son had so intimate a knowledge of the facts in question; and the Marquis of Masseran, still more surprised, concealed his astonishment less skilfully than the monarch. "On my word, your highness," he said, "on my life, I was absent."

"But yet, Monsieur de Masseran," continued the prince, "you were perfectly well aware that Monsieur de Rohan presented himself at your gates, demanding to speak with yourself, in the first place, and then, in your absence, with this fair lady your wife, who certainly was within the chateau; and yet you suffered her—unconsciously upon her part, no doubt—to lead his majesty to believe that her approbation had not been sought and was utterly contemned. This was not right, sir, for it was misleading the king."

"You speak well and wisely, Francis," said his father: "go on, my dear boy, go on, if you have anything more to ask."

"One or two things more, may it please your majesty," he replied, with a look of pride in his father's approbation, but keeping his eyes still fixed upon the Lord of Masseran. "My next question is: as the young lady has a brother, who is her next male relation, did he or did he not give his consent to the marriage of Monsieur de Rohan with his sister?"

"In regard to that, sir, I can say nothing," replied the Lord of Masseran. "Monsieur de Brienne, your highness, is not under my charge and guidance. All I have to say is, that his mother most positively refused her consent."

"It might be more straightforward, sir," replied the prince, "to say whether, to your knowledge, Monsieur de Brienne consented or not."

"I think, monseigneur," said Diana of Poitiers, taking a step forward, "I think I may reply fully to your question, which Monsieur de Masseran seems not inclined to do. Henry de Brienne always has approved of his sister's marriage to Bernard de Rohan, and Monsieur and Madame de Masseran are amply aware of the fact."

"I do not deny it," said Madame de Masseran, sharply. "He is a headstrong and unruly boy."

"One question more," said the prince, "and I have done. Is not Bernard de Rohan justified, to a certain degree, in that which he has done, by a written promise of Mademoiselle de Brienne's hand, given to him by her own father shortly before the good count's death? I ask you, madam, is not this the case?"

"It is the case that he has such a promise," replied Madame de Masseran, in the same shrewish tone, "but not that he is justified by it, your highness. That promise never had either my consent or approbation; though the late Monsieur de Brienne, who was his guardian and brought him up, was foolishly fond of this boy, and thought that he was everything great and noble, I had always different views for my daughter, and never either directly or indirectly countenanced that promise."

"I am in no way interested in this business, sire," said the dauphin, turning towards his father, "not being personally acquainted in the slightest degree with Monsieur de Rohan; but I thought it necessary to ask these few questions in your majesty's presence, in consequence of information I had received in a somewhat circuitous manner. Having thus far elicited the truth, which was at first evidently concealed from you, your majesty's wisdom must decide the rest—"

"This is the edict, sire," said the Cardinal Bertrandi, re-entering the chamber; "it wants but your royal signature and the great seal. May I offer you the pen?" and, thus saying, he spread the parchment on the table before the king.

Henry took the pen, paused for a moment, and then turned his eyes upon the Duchess of Valentinois. She looked down upon the ground, however, and uttered not a word. The king dipped the pen in the ink and wrote his name at the bottom of the edict. The chancellor countersigned it, and raised it from the table.

"Now, Diana," said Henry, in a low voice, turning to the duchess, "what think you?"

"That your majesty has done perfectly right," replied the lady, in the same low tone. "Not that this poor Bernard de Rohan, it would appear, is really to blame."

"I do not know," replied the king, "I do not know; but we shall soon see. The question must be inquired into," he added, in a louder voice. "I will hear all parties, and then decide. For the present, the marriage is annulled. Monsieur de Masseran, hasten back to Savoy, and instantly set the Baron de Rohan at liberty. Let some one proceed immediately—her brother will be the best, the fittest, the only fit person. Let him immediately proceed to seek for Mademoiselle de Brienne, and bring her to Paris without loss of time. You, Monsieur de Masseran, will command De Rohan, in our name, to present himself in the capital within fourteen days from the date of his liberation by your hand. You will do well also to come hither yourself as speedily as may be; for our good friend Brissac, who is somewhat of a sanguinary person to deal with, has conceived an objection to the frequent passing of couriers through your part of the country. It were well to keep out of Brissac's way. My good Lord Cardinal, see that all things requisite be done, and also that the edict be duly registered in the Parliament to-morrow. Come, Francis, come. We shall have all the world marvelling at our absence."