At long last we gat her filleted; and then came the mantle. First, Dame Elizabeth brought one of black cloth of Stamford, lined with fox fur: no, that served not. Then brought Dame Joan de Vaux the fair mantle of cloth of velvet, grey, that I ever reckoned the fairest in the Queen’s wardrobe, guarded with black budge, and wrought in embroidery of rose-colour and silver: she waved it away as though the very sight ’noyed (disgusted) her. Then fetched Isabel de la Helde the ray mantle, with corded ground, of blue, red, and green; and the Queen chid her as though she had committed one of the seven deadly sins. At the last, in uttermost wanhope (despair), ran I and brought the ugsomest of all, the corded olive green with border of grey; and forsooth, that would she have. Well-a-day, but I was fain when we had her at last arrayed!
When the Queen had left the chamber, Dame Elizabeth cast her on the nearest bench, and panted like a coursed hare.
“Deary, deary me!” crieth she: “I would I were abed.”
“Abed!” crieth Isabel de la Helde. “Abed at five o’clock of a morrow!”
“Ay, or rather, I would I had never gat out. Gramercy, but how fractious is the Queen! I counted we ne’er should have her donned.”
“She never spoke to me so sharp in her life,” saith Isabel.
“I tell you, I am fair dog-weary!” quoth Dame Elizabeth.
“Whatever hath took the Queen?” saith Joan de Vilers.
“Foolish childre, all of you!” saith old Dame Tiffany, looking on us with a smile. “When man is fractious like to this, with every man and every matter, either he suffereth pain, or else he hath some hidden anguish or fear that hath nought to do with the matter in hand. ’Tis not with you that my Lady is wrathful. There is something harrying her at heart. And she hath not told me.”
In hall, during dinner. I cast eyes from time to time on the Queen, and I could not but think Dame Tiffany spake sooth. She looked fair haggard, as though some bitter care were eating out her heart. I never loved her, as I said at the first: but that morn I felt sorry for her.