"Well, mesdames, an embassy came from Charles I. of England—poor man, he had his head cut off afterward—how perfidious those English are!—to ask the hand of our Princess Henrietta Maria—daughter of Marie de' Medici and Henry IV.—in marriage. The Beau Buckingham was the ambassador chosen, and such a one was never seen before; so magnificent, so handsome, so liberal. His dress, his manners, his _cortége_, all were perfect. He seemed like a prince out of a fairy tale, just arrived from the moon, who spoke nothing but diamonds and rubies, and at whose feet flowers sprung up. All the ladies lost their hearts to him, the husbands shut themselves up in a rage, and the lovers hanged themselves in sheer despair! "He soon saw how matters stood with the poor Queen. She dared scarcely open her mouth, and looked so terrified in the presence of her husband and Cardinal Richelieu, that what with her beauty and her evident sufferings, she might have touched a heart of stone. Now the Beau Buckingham was far from having a heart of stone where the ladies were concerned. So, _le voilà amoureux_, the Beau Buckingham! Indeed, from the first moment he came to Court he saw only the Queen. To her all his looks, all his attentions, were directed,—and such looks, such devotion! _Bon Dieu_, how well I remember him in a justaucorps of white satin embroidered with gold, leaning against a pillar gazing at the Queen, who evidently was aware of his glances. His long beautiful hair streamed over his shoulders in rich chestnut curls, his noble face beamed with expression; in one hand was a cavalier's hat covered with snowy plumes, the other was placed on his heart. "The Queen was sensible to his homage. Poor Queen! she really was very ill used; it must have been delightful to be loved at last. Indeed, it was quite evident to me, as well as to the whole Court, that Buckingham's feeling was returned. Sometimes she gazed also, nor did her looks want fire. But, mesdames, I hope you do not misunderstand me," and the Duchess glanced deprecatingly round the circle; "I assure you I am not censorious; I am only relating facts, undoubted facts, which happened long ago—in order to convince you all that Madame de Sennécy is mistaken, and that even when young her Majesty was eminently cautious. She is so still. Believe me, she is not married to Mazarin." "Pray proceed, dear Duchess," cries Madame de Sennécy; "never mind Mazarin; your story is most interesting." "We want to hear the _dénouement_," say all the ladies, and the red-nosed Countess opines that "it is easy to understand what that will be."