she was so famous. Her bright, rosy face, with clearly-cut features, sparkled with childish mischief, very frankly expressed in the regular arch of her brows, the brightness of her eyes, and the pert smile of her pretty mouth. She had then in perfection that kittenish grace which nothing--neither captivity nor the sight of the horrible block--ever completely quelled. Thus these two Queens, one in the morning, the other in the summer of life, were at this time a perfect contrast. Catherine was an imposing sovereign, an impenetrable widow, with no passion but the love of power. Mary was a feather-brained and light-hearted wife, who thought of her crowns as playthings. One looked forward to impending misfortunes; she even had a glimpse of the murder of the Guises, guessing that this would be the only way to strike down men who were capable of raising themselves above the throne and the Parlement; she saw rivers of blood in a long struggle--the other little dreamed that she would herself be murdered by form of law. A curious reflection brought a little calm to the Italian Queen. "According to the soothsayer and to Ruggieri's forecast, this reign is soon to end. My difficulties will not last," thought she. And thus, strange to say, an occult science, now forgotten--judicial astrology--was a support to Catherine at this juncture, as it was throughout her life; for the belief grew constantly from seeing the predictions of those who practised it realized with the greatest exactitude. "You are very serious, madame," said Mary Stuart, taking from Dayelle's hands her little cap, pinched down over the parting of her hair with two frilled wings of handsome lace beyond the puffs of wavy yellow hair that shadowed her temples. The painters of the time have so amply perpetuated this cap, that it now belongs essentially to the Queen of Scots, though it was Catherine who invented it when she went into mourning for Henri II.; but she could not wear it with such good effect as her daughter-in-law, to whom it was infinitely more becoming. And this was not the smallest of the grievances harbored by the Queen-mother against the young Queen. "Does your Majesty mean that for a reproof?" said Catherine, turning to her daughter-in-law. "I owe respect, and should not dare----" said the Scotch-woman meaningly, with a glance at Dayelle. Between the two Queens the favorite waiting-woman stood like the figure-head on a fire-dog; an approving smile might cost her her life. "How can I be as gay as you after losing the late King, and when I see my son's kingdom on the eve of a conflagration?" "Politics do not much concern women," replied Mary Stuart. "Besides, my uncles are there." These two sentences, in the circumstances, were two poisoned arrows. "Let us see our furs then," the Italian replied, "and so turn our minds to our own business, while your uncles settle that of the kingdom."