of white violets from her hand, and then raised the hand itself; after a moment's half-hesitation, he kissed it and left her side.
Francesca was at first surprised at the youthful monarch's gallantry; but her thoughts soon wandered to other subjects—for thoughts usually wander when neither vanity nor interest fix them.
"I have news for you!" exclaimed Madame do Mercœur, when they retired for the night; "Marie is going to be married, in another week she will be Countess of Soissons. A splendid fortune—the blood royal,—I think even her expectations must be satisfied."
"I hope she will be happy," said Francesca. "But what will the king say?"
"Whatever his mother pleases—the present visit to the camp is, I suppose, by way of consolation. Perhaps, though, it has been kept so quiet, to prevent interference: we never understand the value of things, hearts included, till we are about to lose them. I was not aware of the alliance till this afternoon. My uncle's presents, I hear, are magnificent."
The image of Guido naturally arose in his sister's mind—how would this marriage affect him? Surely it were best, if any vain and unavowed hope—unavowed even to himself—lurked
