But in the year of grace 1417 there was a breathing space for
discredited France, and presently the Vicomte de Montbrison was sent
into England, as ambassador. He got in London a fruitless audience of
King Henry, whose demands were such as rendered a renewal of the war
inevitable; and afterward got, in the month of April, about the day of
Palm Sunday, at the Queen's dower-palace of Havering-Bower, an
interview with Queen Jehane.[*]
[*Nicolas unaccountably omits to mention that during the French
wars she had ruled England as Regent with signal capacity,--although
this fact, as you will see more lately, is the pivot of his
chronicle.]
A curled pert page took the Vicomte to where she sat alone, by
prearrangement, in a chamber with painted walls, profusely lighted by
the sun, and made pretence to weave a tapestry. When the page had gone
she rose and cast aside the shuttle, and then with a glad and wordless
cry stumbled toward the Vicomte. "Madame and Queen--!" he coldly said.
His judgment found in her a quite ordinary, frightened woman, aging
now, but still very handsome in these black and shimmering gold robes;
but all his other faculties found her desirable: and with a contained
hatred he had perceived, as if by the terse illumination of a
thunderbolt, that he could never love any woman save the woman whom he
most despised.
Pages:
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246
247
248
249
250
251
252
253
254
255
256
257
258
259
260
261
262
263