'Under Henry IV., even the Duchess de Vendosme dared not have worn these, after she was publicly affronted by the Count de Soissons for doing so.' 'Henry IV. was a bear who should never have left the woods of the Lower Pyrenees. Your Majesty is in a horrible humour this morning; but here is luncheon, and there are chessmen--which do you prefer to me?' 'Neither, sweetheart, yet I will have you all; luncheon now, chess after, and you all the while.' With these words the capricious King sat down to table, and was assisted to various niceties by the white hands of the Countess, with whom he afterwards sat down to chess, of which he was so passionately fond that he played it in his carriage, where the men were pegs inserted into holes in the squares of a perforated board, so that the motion could not displace them. 'Ah, Countess,' he mumbled as the game began, 'you have the most adorable hands heaven ever formed!' 'Yet they are the hands of a Lorrainer.' 'Have you ever seen this Marie Louise, of whom all men talk?' 'No;' replied the Countess, coldly; 'but why, sire?' 'Because we are told that she is full of the most dangerous beauty, united to the sweetest sensibility.' 'Ah; she is cunning perhaps, and is one of those who rule by tender glances, tears and sighs, or by an affectation of enthusiasm she never feels. I have known many women of this kind.' 'You are piqued, my dear Countess--she is a mere girl--a child.' 'So is the Duchess de Montbazon--yet she has had eight lovers.' 'You are severe, Clara; Madame de Montbazon is the wife of a peer of France.' 'I care not--for every lover she has, I could easily reckon ten, were I not devoted to your Majesty.' 'Thank you--but you forget your game.' 'Ah! sire--a woman forgets the universe itself, when he whom she truly loves is present.' 'Thou flatterest me, Clara,' said the poor silly King, trembling with pleasure, and in turn playing the deuce with his game. 'And now I have two or three pretty little requests to make.' 'Peste! I thought so. Did not the jewels I sent by M. Boizenval satisfy you?' 'Oh! sire, my letter of thanks expressed all I felt--but you mean not to grudge them to your Clara?' 'No--no!--and this request--' 'Monseigneur--(I did not catch the name) departed to the company of the saints yesterday, and has left a fine estate, the baton of a marshal of France, the cross of Saint Esprit, and a regiment of dragoons behind him.' 'Well,' said the King, wincing, and making a grimace; ''tis fortunate that he could not take them all to heaven with him, as I wanted them sorely.' 'So do I--the baton for Colonel Hepburn, the Scot, who dresses so magnificently--the cross, and the colonelcy of horse, I leave to your Majesty. 'Thank you, madame, you are exceedingly liberal; Hepburn, shall have his baton, I promise you; but not until he has marched into Lorraine.'