Almost from the hour in which her sex was announced, the King had
promised the Baron de Ribaumont that she should be the wife of his
young son, and that all the possessions of the house should be
settled upon the little couple, engaging to provide for the
Chevalier's disappointed heir in some commandery of a religious
order of knighthood.
The Baron's wife was English. He had, when on a visit to his
English kindred, entirely turned the head of the lovely Annora
Walwyn, and finding that her father, one of the gravest of Tudor
statesmen, would not hear of her breaking her engagement to the
honest Dorset squire Marmaduke Thistlewood, he had carried her off
by a stolen marriage and coup de main, which, as her beauty,
rank, and inheritance were all considerable, had won him great
reputation at the gay court of Henri II.
Infants as the boy and girl were, the King had hurried on their
marriage to secure its taking place in the lifetime of the Count.
The Countess had died soon after the birth of the little girl, and
if the arrangement were to take effect at all, it must be before
she should fall under the guardianship of her uncle, the Chevalier.
Therefore the King had caused her to be brought up from the cottage
in Anjou, where she had been nursed, and in person superintended
the brilliant wedding. He himself led off the dance with the tiny
bride, conducting her through its mazes with fatherly kindliness
and condescension; but Queen Catherine, who was strongly in the
interests of the Angevin branch, and had always detested the Baron
as her husband's intimate, excused herself from dancing with the
bridegroom. He therefore fell to the share of the Dauphiness Queen
of Scots, a lovely, bright-eyed, laughing girl, who so completely
fascinated the little fellow, that he convulsed the court by
observing that he should not have objected to be married to some
one like her, instead of a little baby like Eustacie.
Amid all the mirth, it was not only the Chevalier and the Queen who
bore displeased looks. In truth, both were too great adepts in
court life to let their dissatisfaction appear. The gloomiest face
was that of him whose triumph it was--the bridegroom's father, the
Baron de Ribaumont. He had suffered severely from the sickness
that prevailed in St. Quentin, when in the last August the Admiral
de Coligny had been besieged there by the Spaniards, and all agreed
that he had never been the same man since, either in health or in
demeanour. When he came back from his captivity and found the King
bent on crowning his return by the marriage of the children, he had
hung back, spoken of scruples about such unconscious vows, and had
finally only consented under stress of the personal friendship of
the King, and on condition that he and his wife should at once have
the sole custody of the little bride. Even then he moved about the
gay scene with so distressed and morose an air that he was
evidently either under the influence of a scruple of conscience or
of a foreboding of evil.