Agnes Sorel. G. P. R. James

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      "He seems to leave all the honey to his fair lady," replied Jean Charost.

      "Yes, to catch flies with," replied the girl; and then she added, in a lower tone, "and he is the spider to eat them."

      The wine and the preserved fruits had by this time been placed upon a large marble table in the centre of the hall; and a fair sight they made, with the silver flagons, and the gold and jeweled cups, spread out upon that white expanse, beneath the gray and fretted arches overhead, while on the several groups around in their gay apparel, and the abbot in his robes, standing by the table, with a serving brother at his side, the many-colored light shone strongly through the window of painted glass.

      "Here's to you, noble sir, whom I am to call Louis Valois, and to your young friend, Jean Charost," said the abbot, bowing to the duke, and raising a cup he had just filled. "I pray you do me justice in this excellent wine of Nuits."

      "I will but sip, my lord," replied the duke, taking up a cup. "I have drank enough already somewhat to heat me."

      "Nay, nay, good gentleman," cried the fair lady with whom he had been talking, "let me fill for you! Drink fair with the lord abbot, for very shame, or I will inform the Duke of Orleans, who passes here, they say, to-day."

      The last words were uttered with a meaning smile; but the duke let her pour the wine out for him, drank it down, and then, with a graceful inclination to the company, took a step toward the door, saying, "The Duke of Orleans has gone by, madam. At least, his train passed us while we were at the gates. My lord abbot, I give you a thousand thanks for your hospitality. Ladies all, farewell;" and then passing Madame De Giac, he added, in a whisper, which reached, however, the ears of Jean Charost who was following. "In Paris, then."

      The lady made no answer with her lips; but her eyes spoke sufficiently, and to the thoughts of Jean Charost somewhat too much.

      The serving brother opened the door of the parlor for the guests to pass out, and he had not yet closed it, when the name of the Duke of Orleans was repeated from more than one voice within, and a merry peal of laughter followed.

      The duke hastened his steps, holding the arm of his young companion; and though the smile still lingered on his lips for awhile, yet before they had reached the gate of the convent, it had passed away. Gradually he fell into a fit of deep thought, which lasted till they nearly descended to Juvisy. Then, however, he roused himself, and said, with an abrupt laugh, "I sometimes think men of pleasure are mad, De Brecy."

      "I think so too, your highness," replied Jean Charost.

      The duke started, and looked suddenly in his face; but all was calm and simple there; and, after a moment's silence, the prince rejoined, "Too true, my young friend; too true! A lucid interval often comes upon them, full of high purposes and good resolves: they see light, and truth, and reality for a few short hours, when suddenly some accident--some trifle brings the fit again, and all is darkness and delusion, delirious dreams, and actions of a madman. I have heard of a bridge built of broken porcelain; and such is the life of a man of pleasure. The bridge over which his course lies, from time to eternity, is built of broken resolutions, and himself the architect."

      "A frail structure, my lord, by which to reach heaven," replied Jean Charost, "and methinks some strong beams across would make us surer of even reaching earthly happiness."

      "Where can one find them?" asked the duke.

      "In a strong will," answered Jean Charost.

      The duke mused for a moment or two, and then suddenly changed the conversation, saying, "Who was the girl you were speaking with?"

      "In truth, your highness, I do not know," replied Jean Charost. "She said that she was going, under the escort of Monsieur and Madame De Giac, to Beaugency."

      "Oh, then, I know," replied the duke. "It is the fair Agnes, whom my good aunt talked about. They say she has a wit quite beyond her years. Did you find it so?"

      "I can not tell," replied Jean Charost, "for I do not know her age. She seemed to me quite a girl; and yet spoke like one who thought much and deeply."

      "You were well matched," said the duke, gayly; and, at the same moment, some of his attendants came up, and the conversation stopped for the time.

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