From what internal emotion it is hard to say--for song is not always a sign of joy--the queen, as she sat at her work, sang, from time to time, some of the verses of one of the cançons of the day, in a sweet low voice, and in that sort of indifferent tone, which seemed to show, that while her hands were busy with the embroidery, and her voice was as mechanically modulating the song, that nobler part of the mind, which seems to dwell more in the heart than the brain, and whose thoughts are feelings, was busy with very different matter.
THE SEEKER FOR LOVE
"Oh where is Love?" the pilgrim said,
"Is he pris'ner, dead, or fled?
I've sought him far, with spear and lance.
To meet him, seize and bind him.
I've sought him in each tower of France,
But never yet could find him--
There,"--
"Should these flowers, in the treasure, be azure or gold, Blanche?" demanded the queen.
"Gold, madam!--Oh, certainly gold!" replied the lady, and the queen resumed her work and her song.