Henry of Guise: The States of Blois. G. P. R. James

as far as the science of the time could render it so. The windows of the bower looked over the most abrupt part of the hill on which the castle stood, and, beyond that, upon the wide woods, that, sweeping away down into the valley, covered an extent of many miles of low and gently undulating ground, which afforded no eminence whatsoever, within cannon shot, that was not completely commanded by the castle itself. The bower had also the advantage of being on the sunny side of the building, turned away from the cold north, and from the east, and looking to the land of summer, and to the point where the splendid sun went down after his daily course. On the day that we have mentioned, indeed, the great light-giver vouchsafed but few of his beams to the world below; but in the huge fire-place of the lady's bower, which was furnished with its comfortable seats all round, blazed up a pile of logs, giving heat sufficient to the whole room, to compensate for the absence of the sun.

      At a little distance from the fire was collected a group of persons, of which the graceful and dignified form of Charles of Montsoreau was the first that caught the eye. He was standing with his hunting cap in his hand--the long plume of which swept the floor--and was bending in an attitude of much grace to speak with a lady who was seated in a large arm-chair, and who, looking up in his face, was listening with apparently great interest to all that he was saying. That lady, however, was not the one who had spoken to him from the carriage. She, indeed, sat near, while three or four female attendants, who had come with her in the vehicle, stood behind. But the lady to whom Charles of Montsoreau was speaking was altogether of a different age, and of a different appearance.

      She was apparently not above nineteen or twenty years of age, and certainly very beautiful, although her beauty was not altogether of that sparkling and brilliant kind which attracts attention at once. The features, it is true, were all good; the skin fair, soft, and delicate; the figure exquisitely formed, and full of grace; but there were none of those brilliant contrasts of colouring that are remarkable even at a distance. There was no flashing black eye, full of fire and light; the colour on the cheek, though that cheek was not pale, was pure and delicate; the hair was of a light glossy silken brown, and the soft liquid hazel eyes, screened by their long lashes, and fine cut eyelids, required to be seen near, and to be marked well, before all the beautiful depth and fervour of their expression could be fully perceived. There was one thing, however, which was seen at once, which was the great loveliness of the mouth and lips, every line of which spoke sweetness and gentleness, but not without firmness--tenderness, in short, gaining rather than losing from resolution. Those lips were altogether peculiar to the race and family to which she was--not very remotely--related; and it was to their peculiar form and expression, that was owing that ineffable smile which is said to have borne no slight part in the charm that rendered her nearest male relative at that moment all-powerful over the hearts of men, made him, Henry of Guise, more a king in France than the sovereign of the land--at least as far as the affections of the people went--and which had added the crowning grace to the beauty of the unfortunate Mary Stuart.

      The dress in which this fair girl was clothed was that in which she had been travelling, and consequently there was but little ornament of any kind about it; and yet the blood of the princely Guises spoke out in every movement and in every attitude, too plainly for any one to have mistaken her for aught but what she was, had she been dressed even in the garb of a peasant.

      The elder lady, clothed altogether in black, with her grey hair drawn back from the point of the black velvet curch with which her head was covered, and an eager, somewhat restless, eye, presented no points either of great interest or attraction, and appeared what, in fact, she really was, a poor and distant relation of the young lady whom she accompanied, willing to derive competence, importance, and dignity from acting the part of companion to one above herself in worldly advantages.

      It frequently and naturally happens, that persons in such a situation lose all native dignity of character, and become at once subservient to those above them, and domineering to those below. This, indeed, is not always the case; and when it is not, the great trial of the human heart, which such circumstances inflict, but leaves the character of those who endure it well, more bright and noble than they otherwise would have appeared. But in the present instance, the result was the more common one, and the old Marquise de Saulny, though possessing several good qualities, presented, in general, a character but little estimable. Talkative till she was repressed; loving to rule and direct the household of the young lady to whom she was attached; excitable, and somewhat tyrannical by nature, but subservient by habit and by policy, she was often inclined to affect a degree of power and authority over her fair companion, which the sweet girl herself but rarely thought it worth while to oppose, but which, as soon as she did oppose it, sunk into the most perfect submission and humility. Often, too, she would make an effort to engross the whole conversation, and in ordinary instances did so without any fear of rivalry from her less loquacious companion; but whenever the young lady herself showed an inclination to speak, Madame de Saulny was silent, or only conversed with the inferior persons round about her in a low tone.

      As we have said, it was by the side of the younger lady that Charles of Montsoreau was now standing, giving her apparently an account of the events that had just passed, while she, with her soft eyes turned eagerly towards his face, listened to every word he uttered with deep interest, and asked him manifold questions as he went on.

      It would seem that Charles of Montsoreau had not been aware of the return of his brother, for he started slightly at his appearance, and the young lady turned her eyes towards the door with an inquiring look, as the Marquis and the Abbé de Boisguerin entered.

      "This is my brother, madam," said Charles of Montsoreau, taking a step forward. "Gaspar, I have been acting as your lieutenant here during your absence. The man I sent to you doubtless told you what had then occurred; and although I knew not, when I offered these ladies in your name the protection of your château, whom it was I had an opportunity of thus slightly serving, I was quite sure that I only did what you would have done if you had been present."

      "Undoubtedly, my gallant brother," replied the Marquis--"you did all that was right, and all that was chivalrous. For my own sake, I must regret my absence at the moment when these events took place; but for these ladies' sake I cannot regret it, for I know none who would welcome them more warmly, or defend them more gallantly, than you, Charles.--And so you have stood a siege and won a battle during my absence, while I have only had the luck to kill a huge boar.--I hope," he added, advancing towards the younger lady, "I hope that you have neither suffered great fear nor great inconvenience; and though it is possible that these reiters will linger about in this neighbourhood for some time to come, being now upon our guard, we shall soon have men enough under arms to protect you against any further violence."

      While he had been speaking the young lady had regarded him attentively, but with a very different glance from that which she had been giving to his brother. It seemed as if the events which had taken place had rendered her familiar with the one, even in the short space of time which their acquaintance had yet lasted, and she looked upon him as a friend, while she gazed upon the other as a stranger. She replied courteously, however, thanking him for the hospitality which had been shown to them, and assuring him, that though she had certainly been very much frightened while they were flying from the pursuit of the reiters, yet she had lost all fear as soon as they were within the walls of Montsoreau.

      "You have forgot one thing, Charles," said the Abbé de Boisguerin, advancing, "which is to present your brother and myself formally to these ladies; for we, who were unfortunate enough to be absent on a less pleasing occupation than that of giving them assistance, do not yet know to whom you have been fortunate enough to afford protection."

      Charles of Montsoreau coloured slightly, as he was reminded of his omission, and then presented his brother and the Abbé to the Marquise de Saulny and Mademoiselle de Clairvaut.

      At the name of the latter, the brow of the Abbé de Boisguerin, which had been somewhat contracted, expanded in a moment, and his lip lighted up with a bright smile.

      "If I am not mistaken," he said, bowing low to the younger lady, "Mademoiselle de Clairvaut is niece of that most noble prince the Duke of Guise."

      "My mother was his niece," replied the young lady; "but I may boast that his affection is not less for me than if I were myself his niece--I may say his