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THE WOOING OF LA GRANDE MADEMOISELLE.

ALBEIT I hold it desirable that a man should do his own lovemaking, yet have I ever had reason to be grateful that his Sacred Majesty, that now is, did once, and once only, choose to woo by deputy. Since that he is come to his own it hath not been by any observed that our gracious King Charles II. is slack at such divertissement. But then was he but a prince, and a prince in exile, and the fair lady he was set to woo he was also to wed, all of which be weighty points of difference.

It was on a day of early spring that Mademoiselle de Montpensier-la Grande Mademoiselle, as the people of Paris were wont to call her-paced the terrace which doth divide the Court Royal from the garden in the great H tel Richelieu, now the palace of the kings of France. Of the blood of kings was MademoiselleAnne Marie Louise d'Orléans, Souveraine de Dombes, Princesse Dauphine d'Auvergne, Duchesse de Montpensier-and royally did she bear herself, albeit in those days she was far enough from dreaming of such martial exploits as have since made her name resound. I stood on the garden path below and watched, shivering somewhat the while and wishing with all my heart for a companionable cup of sack. The pale early sunlight was but chill, and I had ridden from St. Germains behind his Highness, my master. Now riding is an exercise which doth whet the appetite unreasonable sharp when a man hath not fared over bountifully, as did none of us in those beggared days, king's courtiers and king's guests though we were.

Yet soon I forgot all such matters, for Mademoiselle, there on the terrace above, waved from her, queen like, her ladies, and one of them came lightly along the lower path, and so came upon me unwitting. It was Françoise de Rohan, daughter of a younger branch of the great Huguenot house; the fairest lady, to mine eyes, of all that Court, but over-well dowered in lands and moneys for a penniless exile to dare to love, ay, though his sole default were loyalty to his king. Beggary is beggary, be it by his own misdoing or fickle fortune her misliking that a man be bereft of all. So I wore not the colours of Françoise de Rohan nor met her eyes

-save by blessed chance-when we encountered at the hunt or at the King's playhouse. Howbeit on that day I could not fly, being that I was in attendance on his Highness; so we made salutation very grave and courtly, and I pulled my cloak about me to hide the threadbare spot on mine elbow.

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'You, too, wait on the pleasure of others, Monsieur Gerard,' said she. We may beguile each the ennui of the other,' and I saw the laughter in her brown eyes.

I tried to stammer out that where she was could be no weariness, but she brushed my words from her.

'There is no need to waste fair speeches,' said she; his Highness whom you serve will have need of them all to-day.'

At her speech I looked up to the terrace and saw the tall figure of my master Prince Rupert, his dark head bending very close to the fair curls of Mademoiselle, to whom he spoke.

''Tis like we shall need tarry some while,' said I; ‘deign to rest here,' and I led her to a little seat cut in the thickness of the box hedge, well screened from the wind.

Here we could see, as from a box in the playhouse, those on the terrace above, which I deem had clean forgot us, albeit they might have seen us by a glance cast below. His Highness looked very brave and point device in his wine-coloured suit, and I was glad at heart as I gazed on him to think that as yet we of his family contrived for him to go princely as beseemed him, though God wot, those last velvets and laces being worn through, I knew not whence more braveries should come. For his Highness shared such coin as he possessed with those of his household, and we were all like to go poverty-struck together. Howbeit, Mademoiselle at least guessed naught of such straits, and she glanced with bright eyes on the Prince, seeing in him the valiant leader who had won glory on our English battlefields.

'It is well said, Monsieur, my cousin,' cried la Grande Mademoiselle, coming to a halt just over against us; ' yet better were it said by the Prince of Wales himself.'

Hearing the words so clear, I made a move to withdraw, but Françoise caught my cloak and held me fast.

'Mademoiselle mislikes not an audience,' she whispered, and, though I was less sure of his Highness's liking, yet I abode where I was, in part because I heard a little tearing sound in my cloak, the silken lining whereof was not fitted for sudden handling.

'His Highness, my cousin, might have chosen a more fortunate

ambassador,' that was Prince Rupert's voice, with an edge of disdain in it, for whoso could hear it; he loved not such silken dalliance.

'I spoke not of ambassadors,' quoth la Grande Mademoiselle, lifting her fair head very high; so tall she was that she reached above his Highness's shoulder, who is above the stature of most men. Nay, I desire no ambassadors, else were the choice a fitting one.'

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'Yet so are sovereigns wooed,' returned the Prince, at which answer Françoise de Rohan brought her hands together prettily, as at a play which pleased her.

'I am nor queen nor empress yet,' said Mademoiselle as though to herself.

I saw the Prince's hand restless at his sword-hilt, as though he were fain to cleave a way out of such a net of talk; yet he made soft answer enough. He had learned wisdom of a bitter sort since the days when he would not bow his soldier pride to pay court to the Queen at Oxford.

'Last night at the fête,' said he, you sat enthroned for a passing sport. It is our dearest wish to see you mount the throne in truth; it is his dearest wish, who ventures not to utter it to you.' "Ventures not" sounds strangely from your lips, mon cousin,' mocked Mademoiselle, and for mounting the throne of England, is it there for me to mount, your Highness, or is not Cromwell upon it?'

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The taunt struck home, for the Prince's face went white with his anger. Mayhap my own countenance mirrored his, for I felt a hand on mine for a heart-beat, then as swift withdrawn.

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'No, Mademoiselle, Cromwell is not Mazarin,' retorted his Highness. And she laughed at the jibe, for most men hold the base-born minister to be true ruler of France. England will never yield to Cromwell at heart, and the King will come to his own, no matter how many of us die ere the time be full.'

And you are always for the King,' said Mademoiselle in a wonderment; for in France most men are for their own advancement, and for king, princes, or cardinal as that shall determine.

The Prince smiled as at a question needing not an answer.

Ah, you are not Condé,' said Mademoiselle, still as one marvelling.

'I have not that honour,' said Prince Rupert with some dryness.

Françoise de Rohan at my side turned and looked at me. I had never seen her eyes so grave before.

'And you are always for the King?' she whispered in Mademoiselle's very words.

'I am his Highness's servant,' I made answer.

'I wish good fortune to his-wooing,' she smiled, but there was that in her smile which I did not understand.

On the terrace above Mademoiselle and his Highness were walking from us, so as for a while we could hear no more of their words. Behind their two figures rose the palace with its colonnades and carvings, and before them stretched the gardens where as yet the alleys and parterres showed but a hinting of their fairness to come. The sun was on Mademoiselle's hair, of an ashy fairness, and on the rose and black ribands which she wore on her robe of rose and white. Fair enough she was in her bold fashion for a king to woo, even without her great possessions, which might win back for him a kingdom. 'Tis lawful and honourable for a prince to seek a richly dowered bride, thought I, but for a simple gentleman? Mine eyes stole back to Françoise de Rohan, and I minded me how the trees were felled round my old manor in England, the plate melted for the King's needs, the walls scarred by Fairfax his ordnance, and how now house and lands were sequestered by the rebels. I pictured the stately chiteau and fair vine-lands of the woman beside me, and knew how the French wits would make merry over a beggar's wooing.

'You frown, Monsieur Gerard,' said the fair lady at my side. "Fear you then for your Prince's wooing?'

Heaven pardon me! I had clean forgot it.

By this we could hear the talk again, which this time turned on Prince Charles his little proficiency in the French tongue, as the chiefest cause why he stood dumb in Mademoiselle's presence.

'Truly,' murmured Françoise in my ear, a mute wooer, Monsieur, is what a woman least can pardon.'

A lover that is dumb, you know, should challenge double pity,' answered I in Raleigh's words, but by reason that I tried to turn them into French I made the measure woefully to halt.

6

'To my thinking, who am but a soldier,' came his Highness's voice, a woman need not desire chiefly sweet words in the man which wooes her.'

Sweet words have their place,' quoth Mademoiselle, tapping on the balustrade with the little book she carried. Alas, my

cousin, such is my station, or maybe my pride, that few dare utter them to me,' and she looked on him with what in any lesser woman I had thought a considering challenge.

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Give Charles but some sign of your grace and he will find words,' returned his Highness with patience most surprising in him.

'But how, if he understand no French, should I show to him my good will?' asked she mighty innocent.

'I have it on my royal cousin's assurance,' his Highness made answer, 'that he followeth with understanding all which falls from your lips.'

'Knowing not the language?' says she in a mock wonderment. His Highness laughed outright.

'When I first went into England,' said he, ' my soldiers learned to understand me even when I swore at them in German.'

At which parallel I looked all dismayed on my neighbour, only to see that she and her mistress found but matter for merriment therein.

'Mademoiselle,' and on a sudden the Prince's voice had grown very earnest, bethink you of this ere you mock at Prince Charles his silent suit; he comes before you, not in his rightful guise, but as exile and fugitive, with his battles yet to win ere he can lead you to the throne which is his inheritance. He must be about a nobler business than writing rhymes to your fairness, he that hath the King his father to release, and England to redeem to its allegiance. Is it a daughter of the Bourbons that will blame him therefor?'

'When last I had sight of Prince Charles, his nobler business was waiting on the smiles of Madame de Châtillon,' mocked a soft voice in mine ear.

But la Grande Mademoiselle there on the terrace stood very upright, and there was a fire in her eyes.

'To strive for a throne, that is worthy of my soul,' cried she, and cast out her arms as I had seen the players do which presented the plays of Baro and Corneille before the King.

With her movement, one of the knots of riband fluttered down from her breast. His Highness bent for it and then looked on the little gaud as though in some debate.

'Rose and black and white,' said he, 'your colours, fair cousin ; what now if I make good my reputation-they call me the Robber Prince among the Puritans-and claim this trophy of you? It shall augur of success for that I desire.'

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