Towards the middle of the month of May, in the year 1660, atnine o'clock in the morning, when the sun, already high inthe heavens, was fast absorbing the dew from the ramparts ofthe castle of Blois a little cavalcade, composed of threemen and two pages, re-entered the city by the bridge,without producing any other effect upon the passengers ofthe quay beyond a first movement of the hand to the head, asa salute, and a second movement of the tongue to express, inthe purest French then spoken in France: "There is Monsieurreturning from hunting." And that was all.

Whilst, however, the horses were climbing the steepacclivity which leads from the river to the castle, severalshop-boys approached the last horse, from whose saddle-bow anumber of birds were suspended by the beak.

On seeing this, the inquisitive youths manifested withrustic freedom their contempt for such paltry sport, and,after a dissertation among themselves upon the disadvantagesof hawking, they returned to their occupations; one only ofthe curious party, a stout, stubby, cheerful lad, havingdemanded how it was that Monsieur, who, from his greatrevenues, had it in his power to amuse himself so muchbetter, could be satisfied with such mean diversions.

"Do you not know," one of the standers-by replied, "thatMonsieur's principal amusement is to weary himself?"

The light-hearted boy shrugged his shoulders with a gesturewhich said as clear as day: "In that case I would rather beplain Jack than a prince." And all resumed their labors.

In the meanwhile, Monsieur continued his route with an airat once so melancholy and so majestic, that he certainlywould have attracted the attention of spectators, ifspectators there had been; but the good citizens of Bloiscould not pardon Monsieur for having chosen their gay cityfor an abode in which to indulge melancholy at his ease, andas often as they caught a glimpse of the illustrious ennuye,they stole away gaping, or drew back their heads into theinterior of their dwellings, to escape the soporificinfluence of that long pale face, of those watery eyes, andthat languid address; so that the worthy prince was almostcertain to find the streets deserted whenever he chanced topass through them.

Now, on the part of the citizens of Blois this was aculpable piece of disrespect, for Monsieur was, after theking - nay, even, perhaps before the king - the greatestnoble of the kingdom. In fact, God, who had granted to LouisXIV., then reigning, the honor of being son of Louis XIII.,had granted to Monsieur the honor of being son of Henry IV.It was not then, or, at least it ought not to have been, atrifling source of pride for the city of Blois, that Gastonof Orleans had chosen it as his residence, and he his courtin the ancient castle of its states.

But it was the destiny of this great prince to excite theattention and admiration of the public in a very modifieddegree wherever he might be. Monsieur had fallen into thissituation by habit.

It was not, perhaps, this which gave him that air oflistlessness. Monsieur had been tolerably busy in the courseof his life. A man cannot allow the heads of a dozen of hisbest friends to be cut off without feeling a littleexcitement, and as, since the accession of Mazarin to power,no heads had been cut off, Monsieur's occupation was gone,and his morale suffered from it.

The life of the poor prince was, then, very dull. After hislittle morning hawking-party on the banks of the Beuvion, orin the woods of Chiverny, Monsieur crossed the Loire, wentto breakfast at Chambord, with or without an appetite andthe city of Blois heard no more of its sovereign lord andmaster till the next hawking-day.

So much for the ennui extra muros; of the ennui of theinterior we will give the reader an idea if he will with usfollow the cavalcade to the majestic porch of the castle ofthe states.

Monsieur rode a little steady-paced horse, equipped with alarge saddle of red Flemish velvet, with stirrups in theshape of buskins; the horse was of a bay color; Monsieur'spourpoint of crimson velvet corresponded with the cloak ofthe same shade and the horse's equipment, and it was only bythis red appearance of the whole that the prince could beknown from his two companions, the one dressed in violet,the other in green. He on the left, in violet, was hisequerry; he on the right, in green, was the grand veneur.

One of the pages carried two gerfalcons upon a perch, theother a hunting-horn, which he blew with a careless note attwenty paces from the castle. Every one about this listlessprince did what he had to do listlessly.

At this signal, eight guards, who were lounging in the sunin the square court, ran to their halberts, and Monsieurmade his solemn entry into the castle.

When he had disappeared under the shades of the porch, threeor four idlers, who had followed the cavalcade to thecastle, after pointing out the suspended birds to eachother, dispersed with comments upon what they saw: and, whenthey were gone, the street, the place, and the court allremained deserted alike.

Monsieur dismounted without speaking a word, went straightto his apartments, where his valet changed his dress, and asMadame had not yet sent orders respecting breakfast,Monsieur stretched himself upon a chaise longue, and wassoon as fast asleep as if it had been eleven o'clock atnight.

The eight guards, who concluded their service for the daywas over, laid themselves down very comfortably in the sunupon some stone benches; the grooms disappeared with theirhorses into the stables, and, with the exception of a fewjoyous birds, startling each other with their sharp chirpingin the tufted shrubberies, it might have been thought thatthe whole castle was as soundly asleep as Monsieur was.

All at once, in the midst of this delicious silence, thereresounded a clear ringing laugh, which caused several of thehalberdiers in the enjoyment of their siesta to open atleast one eye.

This burst of laughter proceeded from a window of thecastle, visited at this moment by the sun, that embraced itin one of those large angles which the profiles of thechimneys mark out upon the walls before mid-day.

The little balcony of wrought iron which advanced in frontof this window was furnished with a pot of red gilliflowers,another pot of primroses, and an early rose-tree, thefoliage of which, beautifully green, was variegated withnumerous red specks announcing future roses.

In the chamber lighted by this window was a square table,covered with an old large-flowered Haarlem tapestry; in thecenter of this table was a long-necked stone bottle, inwhich were irises and lilies of the valley; at each end ofthis table was a young girl.

The position of these two young people was singular; theymight have been taken for two boarders escaped from aconvent. One of them, with both elbows on the table, and apen in her hand, was tracing characters upon a sheet of fineDutch paper; the other, kneeling upon a chair, which allowedher to advance her head and bust over the back of it to themiddle of the table, was watching her companion as shewrote, or rather hesitated to write.

Thence the thousand cries, the thousand railleries, thethousand laughs, one of which, more brilliant than the rest,had startled the birds in the gardens, and disturbed theslumbers of Monsieur's guards.

We are taking portraits now; we shall be allowed, therefore,we hope, to sketch the two last of this chapter.

The one who was leaning in the chair - that is to say, thejoyous, the laughing one - was a beautiful girl of fromeighteen to twenty, with brown complexion and brown hair,splendid, from eyes which sparkled beneath strongly-markedbrows, and particularly from her teeth, which seemed toshine like pearls between her red coral lips. Her everymovement seemed the accent of a sunny nature, she did notwalk - she bounded.

The other, she who was writing, looked at her turbulentcompanion with an eye as limpid, as pure, and as blue as theazure of the day. Her hair, of a shaded fairness, arrangedwith exquisite taste, fell in silky curls over her lovelymantling cheeks; she passed across the paper a delicatehand, whose thinness announced her extreme youth. At eachburst of laughter that proceeded from her friend, sheraised, as if annoyed, her white shoulders in a poetical andmild manner, but they were wanting in that richfulness ofmold which was likewise to be wished in her arms and hands.

"Montalais! Montalais!" said she at length, in a voice softand caressing as a melody, "you laugh too loud - you laughlike a man! You will not only draw the attention ofmessieurs the guards, but you will not hear Madame's bellwhen Madame rings."

This admonition neither made the young girl called Montalaiscease to laugh and gesticulate. She only replied: "Louise,you do not speak as you think, my dear; you know thatmessieurs the guards, as you call them, have only justcommenced their sleep, and that a cannon would not wakenthem; you know that Madame's bell can be heard at the bridgeof Blois, and that consequently I shall hear it when myservices are required by Madame. What annoys you, my child,is that I laugh while you are writing; and what you areafraid of is that Madame de Saint-Remy, your mother, shouldcome up here, as she does sometimes when we laugh too loud,that she should surprise us, and that she should see thatenormous sheet of paper upon which, in a quarter of an hour,you have only traced the words Monsieur Raoul. Now, you areright, my dear Louise, because after these words, `MonsieurRaoul,' others may be put so significant and so incendiaryas to cause Madame de Saint-Remy to burst out into fire andflames! Hein! is not that true now? - say."

And Montalais redoubled her laughter and noisy provocations.

The fair girl at length became quite angry; she tore thesheet of paper on which, in fact, the words "Monsieur Raoul"were written in good characters, and crushing the paper inher trembling hands, she threw it out of the window.

"There! there!" said Mademoiselle de Montalais; "there isour little lamb, our gentle dove, angry! Don't be afraid,Louise - Madame de Saint-Remy will not come; and if sheshould, you know I have a quick ear. Besides, what can bemore permissible than to write to an old friend of twelveyears' standing, particularly when the letter begins withthe words `Monsieur Raoul'?"

"It is all very well - I will not write to him at all,"said the young girl.

"Ah, ah! in good sooth, Montalais is properly punished,"cried the jeering brunette, still laughing. "Come, come! letus try another sheet of paper, and finish our dispatchoff-hand. Good! there is the bell ringing now. By my faith,so much the worse! Madame must wait, or else do without herfirst maid of honor this morning."

A bell, in fact, did ring; it announced that Madame hadfinished her toilette, and waited for Monsieur to give herhis hand, and conduct her from the salon to the refectory.

This formality being accomplished with great ceremony, thehusband and wife breakfasted, and then separated till thehour of dinner, invariably fixed at two o'clock.

The sound of this bell caused a door to be opened in theoffices on the left hand of the court, from which filed twomaitres d'hotel followed by eight scullions bearing a kindof hand-barrow loaded with dishes under silver covers.

One of the maitres d'hotel, the first in rank, touched oneof the guards, who was snoring on his bench, slightly withhis wand; he even carried his kindness so far as to placethe halbert which stood against the wall in the hands of theman stupid with sleep, after which the soldier, withoutexplanation, escorted the viande of Monsieur to therefectory, preceded by a page and the two maitres d'hotel.

Wherever the viande passed, the soldiers ported arms.

Mademoiselle de Montalais and her companion had watched fromtheir window the details of this ceremony, to which, by thebye, they must have been pretty well accustomed. But theydid not look so much from curiosity as to be assured theyshould not be disturbed. So guards, scullions, maitresd'hotel, and pages having passed, they resumed their placesat the table; and the sun, which, through the window-frame,had for an instant fallen upon those two charmingcountenances, now only shed its light upon the gilliflowers,primroses, and rosetree.

"Bah!" said Mademoiselle de Montalais, taking her placeagain; "Madame will breakfast very well without me!"

"Oh! Montalais, you will be punished!" replied the othergirl, sitting down quietly in hers.

"Punished, indeed! - that is to say, deprived of a ride!That is just the way in which I wish to be punished. To goout in the grand coach, perched upon a doorstep; to turn tothe left, twist round to the right, over roads full of ruts,where we cannot exceed a league in two hours; and then tocome back straight towards the wing of the castle in whichis the window of Mary de Medici, so that Madame never failsto say: `Could one believe it possible that Mary de Medicishould have escaped from that window - forty-seven feethigh? The mother of two princes and three princesses!' Ifyou call that relaxation, Louise, all I ask is to bepunished every day; particularly when my punishment is toremain with you and write such interesting letters as wewrite!"

"Montalais! Montalais! there are duties to be performed."

"You talk of them very much at your ease, dear child! - you, who are left quite free amidst this tedious court. Youare the only person that reaps the advantages of themwithout incurring the trouble, - you, who are really moreone of Madame's maids of honor than I am, because Madamemakes her affection for your father-in-law glance off uponyou; so that you enter this dull house as the birds fly intoyonder court, inhaling the air, pecking the flowers, pickingup the grain, without having the least service to perform,or the least annoyance to undergo. And you talk to me ofduties to be performed! In sooth, my pretty idler, what areyour own proper duties, unless to write to the handsomeRaoul? And even that you don't do; so that it looks to me asif you likewise were rather negligent of your duties!"

Louise assumed a serious air, leant her chin upon her hand,and, in a tone full of candid remonstrance, "And do youreproach me with my good fortune?" said she. "Can you havethe heart to do it? You have a future; you belong to thecourt; the king, if he should marry, will require Monsieurto be near his person; you will see splendid fetes; you willsee the king, who they say is so handsome, so agreeable!"

"Ay, and still more, I shall see Raoul, who attends upon M.le Prince," added Montalais, maliciously.

"Poor Raoul!" sighed Louise.

"Now is the time to write to him, my pretty dear! Come,begin again, with that famous `Monsieur Raoul' which figuresat the top of the poor torn sheet."

She then held the pen toward her, and with a charming smileencouraged her hand, which quickly traced the words shenamed.

"What next?" asked the younger of the two girls.

"Why, now write what you think, Louise," replied Montalais.

"Are you quite sure I think of anything?"

"You think of somebody, and that amounts to the same thing,or rather even more."

"Do you think so, Montalais?"

"Louise, Louise, your blue eyes are as deep as the sea I sawat Boulogne last year! No, no, I mistake - the sea isperfidious: your eyes are as deep as the azure yonder - look! - over our heads!"

"Well, since you can read so well in my eyes, tell me what Iam thinking about, Montalais."

"In the first place, you don't think Monsieur Raoul; youthink My dear Raoul."

"Oh! - - "

"Never blush for such a trifle as that! `My dear Raoul,' wewill say - `You implore me to write to you at Paris, whereyou are detained by your attendance on M. le Prince. As youmust be very dull there, to seek for amusement in theremembrance of a provinciale - - '"

Louise rose up suddenly. "No, Montalais," said she, with asmile; "I don't think a word of that. Look, this is what Ithink;" and she seized the pen boldly and traced, with afirm hand, the following words: -

"I should have been very unhappy if your entreaties toobtain a remembrance of me had been less warm. Everythinghere reminds me of our early days, which so quickly passedaway, which so delightfully flew by, that no others willever replace the charm of them in my heart."

Montalais, who watched the flying pen, and read, the wrongway upwards, as fast as her friend wrote, here interruptedby clapping her hands. "Capital!" cried she; "there isfrankness - there is heart - there is style! Show theseParisians, my dear, that Blois is the city for finelanguage!"

"He knows very well that Blois was a Paradise to me,"replied the girl.

"That is exactly what you mean to say; and you speak like anangel."

"I will finish, Montalais," and she continued as follows:"You often think of me, you say, Monsieur Raoul: I thankyou; but that does not surprise me, when I recollect howoften our hearts have beaten close to each other."

"Oh! oh!" said Montalais. "Beware; my lamb! You arescattering your wool, and there are wolves about."

Louise was about to reply, when the gallop of a horseresounded under the porch of the castle.

"What is that?" said Montalais, approaching the window. "Ahandsome cavalier, by my faith!"

"Oh! - Raoul!" exclaimed Louise, who had made the samemovement as her friend, and, becoming pale as death, sunkback beside her unfinished letter.

"Now, he is a clever lover, upon my word!" cried Montalais;"he arrives just at the proper moment."

"Come in, come in, I implore you!" murmured Louise.

"Bah! he does not know me. Let me see what he has come herefor."