"His coldness, then," laughed the other, as the musicians began to play, and the winner of the chaplet led the princess to the dance. "Is it not so, Sire?" she added, turning to the king, who at that moment approached.
"He, indeed, forgot a part of the ceremony," graciously assented Francis.
"A part of the ceremony, your Majesty?" questioned Diane.
"To kiss the two damsels of the princess; and one of them was worthy of casual courtesy," he added, musingly.
"Which, Sire?" asked the countess, quickly.
"The dark-browed maid," returned the monarch, thoughtfully. "Where did I notice her last?"
And then he remembered. It was she who, he suspected, had laughed that night in Fools' hall. Recalling the circumstance, the king looked around for her, but she had drawn back.
"Is it your pleasure to open the festivities, Sire?" murmured the favorite, and, without further words, Francis acquiesced, proffering his arm to his companion.
Masque, costume ball, ballet, it was all one to the king and the court, who never wearied of the diverting vagaries of the dance. Now studying that pantomimic group of merrymakers, in the rhythmical expression of action and movement could almost be read the influence and relative positions of the fair revelers. The countess, airy and vivacious, perched, as it were, lightly yet securely on the arm of the throne; Diane, fearless, confident of the future through the dauphin; Catharine, proud of her rank, undisturbed in her own exalted place as wife of the dauphin; Marguerite, mixture of saint and sinner, a soft heart that would oft-times turn the king from a hard purpose.
"There! I've danced enough," said a panting voice, and Jacqueline, breathless, paused before the duke's fool, who stood a motionless spectator of the revelry. In his rich costume of blue and white, the figure of the foreign jester presented a fair and striking appearance, but his face, proud and composed, was wanting in that spirit which animated the features of his fellows in motley.