With this I pushed past, and left them looking at each other as, followed by Le Brusquet, I gained the door to the Queen's apartment. As we came up De Lorgnac himself appeared, and passed us into the anteroom. I well remembered that cheerless tomb through which I had passed a month ago; but now it was all glittering bright. The door of the Queen's cabinet was closed; but to the right folding doors--that I had not observed before--were open, giving a glimpse, through the half-drawn curtains, of a crowded salon beyond. In the ante-room itself there were about a dozen or so of ladies-in-waiting and pages, all talking and laughing; and as we followed De Lorgnac I felt a light touch at my elbow, and turning met a merry face that smiled up at me. It was little Mademoiselle Davila, the same who with Madame de Montal had met us at Longpont. "_Eh bien_! So you have come, monsieur. I can tell you that you have been expected. Oh! we have heard about you at last--heard twice over--and we are all thinking of playing truant and running away to the forest of Vincennes or Monceaux. That last is better, for it is nearer Paris----" But here her breathless chatter was cut short by a "Hush!" from the salon, and then we heard the strings of a harp being touched. "'Tis _belle_ Marie, the little Queen of Scotland!" And moving forward a couple of steps we were able to see into the next room. I looked round in vain for mademoiselle, and then my glance was arrested by a tall, fair-haired girl who was before a harp; and even I, who should have had no eyes but for one face, stood as if spellbound. As her fingers ran over the harp strings a low, wailing melody filled the room, and then with a voice of strange sweetness she sang a sad little song--a bergerelle of my own country. Harp and voice together died away in inexpressible sorrow at the last words, and a strange stillness filled the room, but was broken at last by a half-suppressed sob. Then in a moment all was changed. There came a bright little flourish, and she sang, joyous and blithe as a lark: "Si le roi m'avait honne Paris sa grand'ville, Et qu'il m'eut fallu quitter L'Amour de m'amie; J'aurais dit au Roi Henri Reprenez votre Paris, J'aime mieux m'amie O gai! J'aime mieux m'amie O gai!" "_O gai!_" burst the chorus, almost unconsciously, from those around her, and with a flush on her face and a smile on her lips Mary of Scotland moved from the harp, and was immediately lost to view in the circle of those who crowded around her. I looked for my companions. Mademoiselle Davila had found a lanky page to flirt with; Le Brusquet seemed to have vanished; but De Lorgnac was at hand.