"Oh, how pretty she is! Look, Mother!"
And she said truly. She was a lovely babe, with soft, golden curls clustering round her little face, and large brown eyes. She was laughing, too--laughing with the merry gurgle of a happy babe--stretching out her little hands towards the princess. She looked the very child of joy, and yet she was a child born of bitter sorrow.
"She is like her father," said the queen. "I never knew a man more gloriously happy than he was; and she has the same look in her eyes."
"She never weeps; she never moans," said Patience. "Ah, madame, she will bring you sunshine and good luck!"
As she spoke she unwrapped the child and placed her upon the ground. A beauty, a perfect beauty she was, and the princess clapped her hands.
"Oh, you must keep her, Mother, you must keep her!"
"I have no choice in the matter. She is my dearest friend's child. Yes, I must keep her, Patience." And from that hour Agnes was the Princess Henrietta's daily companion.
This princess had also been born in sorrow and nurtured in it. She had no playfellows. She had led the dreariest life that any child could lead until this baby came; but from that hour her whole nature changed. She laughed, she played, she danced with her; there was noise, there was life, in that dark apartment. Whatever ills others had to bear, Agnes never suffered. Patience was always there, and Patience sufficed for her, and often for the princess too. They occupied a tiny chamber leading out of the queen's room, and this was their haven of rest, their playroom.
Sometimes even the queen would come in there and sit down and talk to Patience, not as to a subordinate, but as to a friend, and that is saying a great deal for Queen Henrietta Maria, whose pride and arrogance were proverbial.
Everyone was sure Agnes was of noble birth, because, as she grew older, she was brought up nobly and had the same teachers as the princess. They were neither of them overweighted with study; it was not the fashion in those days. They learnt French from their surroundings, a little writing, a little reading, a smattering of Latin, because the queen was bringing up her daughter as a Catholic, and she must needs follow the Mass in her Breviary. This sufficed; but they learnt dancing, and little songs, and thus a certain amount of gaiety emanated through them into the dark Palace of the Louvre.