brilliant thought struck him. Here, in the face of France, in the hearing of Europe, he would exalt the bride of the Emperor's enemy at the expense of the dupe of the Emperor.
The King called Montmorency to him. He told the Constable to pick up the little girl and carry her on his shoulders into the church. Montmorency dared not disobey. The Court looked on and marvelled. Indeed, it was a strange sight; that pale childish figure, stiff with gold, and laden with gems like some barbaric idol; and the Constable of France, the highest dignitary of the realm, turned into a porter for a tired child. Montmorency understood the insult. He was angry and in sore despite; he knew that he served as a spectacle to all as he walked in the triumph of his enemies. "My day is done," he began to murmur. "Good-bye to it, I say!" But the Queen of Navarre was glad, and whispered to those near to her:
"That man tried to ruin me with the King. And now he serves to carry my daughter to church."
Jeanne was married then and there, among all those whispers of envy, hatred, and uncharitableness, married, among the splendour that a country groaned to pay for. The Duke of Cleves at once retired to Germany, and the little bride set out for Pau with her parents.
The jealousy of Francis had not hitherto allowed her to visit her dominions. But now the Infant of Spain could not marry her. On the last day of the festivities, the King sent for Montmorency, and dismissed him from his favour. The Emperor was defied.
