"What is the size of the dowry that this fortunate weaver's daughter will be able to bring to you?" she asked, turning to the young man.
"It is quite a large one, your Highness," he returned, with a sigh, as though he wished from the bottom of his heart that the thrifty weaver had been a gay spendthrift instead of having been a provident money-saver. And he mentioned a sum at which the Lady Marguerite smiled behind her hand, it seemed so small to her.
"Le Glorieux," said she, "go into my bedchamber and ask one of my women to give you the brass-bound box which will be found in the top of the chest."
The jester skipped gayly away to do her bidding and soon returned with the box clasped affectionately in his arms, and kneeling, he laid it on her lap. She took a purse from the box, and emptying the glittering coins in the chair beside her, she counted the pieces as she restored them one by one to the purse, which she handed to Cimburga, saying:
"Here is a greater dowry than the weaver's daughter will bring to her husband. I owe you something because one of my own suite has brought you so much trouble. I hope your marriage will be a happy one. Some day I too must marry, and a princess may not make her own choice. Say a prayer for me, Cimburga, that my betrothal may bring me the happiness that yours has brought to you. Petition the Holy Virgin for Marguerite of Hapsburg."
"Indeed and indeed I will, your gracious Highness," sobbed Cimburga, as she pressed the hem of Marguerite's robe to her lips. "The sun shall not set on a day of my life in which a prayer has not been said for you."
Le Glorieux rubbed his sleeve across his eyes, saying, "I do not like salt water in any shape. When I sail on it it makes me uncomfortable and ill, and it is equally disagreeable when it tries to drown a man's eyes."