"She was the last lady of the castle," said the girl softly.
Again he surveyed the jeweled emblem on the sword, mocking reminder of a glory gone beyond recall.
"And how was it, mistress, the castle was confiscated by the king?" he continued, after a pause.
"Shall I tell you the story?" she asked, her voice hardening.
"If you will," he answered.
"Triboulet's description of the scene where the constable braved the king, insisting on his rights, was true," she observed, proudly.
"But why had the noble wearer of this sword been deprived of his feudality and tenure?"
"Because he was strong and great, and the king feared him; because he was noble and handsome, and the queen-regent loved him. It was not her hand only, Louise of Savoy, Francis' mother, offered, but—the throne."
"The throne!" said the wondering fool.
Quickly she crossed the room and leaned upon the table. In the glimmer of the candles her face was soft and tender. He thought he had never seen a sweeter or more womanly expression.