could not be hidden when she came down to dinner, though Mr. Seyton marked them, and gathered confirmation from them of the state of things his sister-in-law suspected; and Charles looked angrily from mother to sister to see if they appeared to have been vexing her. Lilla was too full of the wonders of her promised expedition, to care about anything so ordinary as she had grown to reckon Mary's tears.

A week afterwards, and the travelling party had set off, and Mary and Mr. Seyton were left to their tete-a-tete.

(To be continued.)

A TWELFTH-DAY KING;

OR,

GLIMPSES OF FRENCH LIFE IN THE FIFTEENTH CENTURY.

BY FLORENCE WILFORD.

CHAPTER I.

Begin then to chuse

This night, as ye use,

Who shall for the present delight here

Be a king by the lot.

Herrick.

A NARROW street of the olden time, such as you would scarcely find now in all Paris, though its counterpart may still be seen in the quaint old town of Rouen; an ill-paved irregular street, with picturesque houses, whose upper stories overhung the lower and nearly met the houses opposite; a by-way, one of the many connecting the two great thoroughfares of the Ville,'- —as Paris on the right bank was called in the middle ages-the Rue St. Denis and the Rue St. Martin ;-that is the place in which we are going to look for our hero. The time being the Eve of the Epiphany Festival, in the year of grace 1404.

He was standing at the door of one of the smallest of the quaint houses that winter day; and though he was very poorly clad, and his curling hair had been ruffled out of all neatness by a tumultuous game with some of the urchins of the neighbourhood, his childish figure had a certain sturdy grace, and his beautiful brown face a rare attractiveness, which made some of the passers-by turn and look at him with interest, and even induced a few to stop and enter into conversation with him.

'I am eight years old, and my name is Jean, and they call me "Cabaret," because I was born at an inn,' he said, as quick as lightning, in answer to the inquiries of a respectable-looking citizen's wife, who, struck by his pretty face, had paused to question him. Meantime he was looking not at her but at a small company of horsemen, who were advancing up the street.

The good woman gave her high cap a little toss, which set its ribands dancing, stroked down the folds of her short woollen petticoat, and went her way; somewhat disgusted with the indifference which the little fellow showed to the notice of so well-dressed a matron. Jean, recking nothing of this, stepped over the threshold and out into the road, gazing with a sort of rapture at the approaching cavalcade. Presently he turned his head back towards the house he had left. 'Mother!' he called, 'I think it is the Duke of Bourbon; the two serving-men that ride in front have a blue fleur-de-lys for their badge.'

There was no answer; but the sound of a woman's voice was heard singing within, and probably the notes of the song drowned the child's words, and prevented his announcement being heard by the singer. Yet her lay-unconsciously to herself-had greater significance for those now advancing, than for any other knights and nobles in the good city of Paris; for she was singing one of the popular ballads about the murder of Blanche of Bourbon, whose story was still fresh in all men's minds. Translated into English, and modernized, it might run somewhat in this way

Queen Blanche kneeleth lone in her room,

-Woe, woe, to the Fleur-de-lys!—
A page stealeth soft through the gloom,
Lighteth down on his knee.

'My master, the king, sends thee wine,'
-Woe, woe, to the Fleur-de-lys!-
He prays thee to drink, Lady mine."'
It is well,' answers she.

She hath taken the cup in her hand;
-See, it droopeth, the Fleur-de-lys!-

'I haste to obey his command,

I will drink,' sigheth she.

'But oh France! oh my country! farewell,
Adieu, land of the Fleur-de-lys!
Gentle sisters, fond brother, farewell;
For I die young,' saith she.

She hath lifted the cup to her lip,

-Direst woe to the Fleur-de-lys!-
But she pauseth once more ere she sip,
Kneeleth low on her knee.

'Ah, King Pedro, no traitor am I,

-Unstained is the Fleur-de-lys,

May God pardon my soul ere I die,

As I pardon thee!'

Thus far had the songstress got when the cavalcade came within. hearing; and not all the jingle of their spurs, nor the clang of their horses' hoofs on the rough pavement, could keep the ringing notes of that pathetic voice from reaching their ears, as, penetrated with the mournful meaning of her lay, she thrilled forth with unutterable pathos the concluding words

'She hath drunk, her fair head is laid low;
-Ah woe, woe, to the Fleur-de-lys!-
Blanche of Bourbon! the land you loved so,
Full of mourning shall be!'

'Do you hear that, Louis?' said a handsome young man who rode in the centre of the group of horsemen, and seemed to be the principal person of the party. It is well our father is not here; for he is quickly made sorrowful by anything that reminds him of his royal sister's unhappy fate.'

'No marvel either,' answered he who was addressed, in sweet clear tones; for all men sigh as they tell her hapless story; and for my part, though she died before I was born, I can never think of her death without a shudder. I wonder who it is that is singing this sad song?'

'Some woman of the people, doubtless,' said the elder youth indifferently; it were better that she looked after her children instead of singing ballads; for Eustache well-nigh ran over that child that was standing in the middle of the road. Did you see with what a grand air he retreated to the threshold? not hurrying himself in the least, little malapert!'

'I did not notice,' said Louis, reining in his horse and looking back, for they had passed the house whilst they were talking; 'but now I see him, and what a handsome boy he is! He would make a splendid little king for us to-morrow, would he not, Jean?'

'But we know nothing of him, save that he has a rare bold manner of his own, and that he lives in the house with somebody who takes the liberty of singing doleful ditties about our royal aunt,' objected Jean, rather satirically.

'Assuredly we must learn more concerning him ere we absolutely choose him for our king; but prythee let us ride back and speak with him a moment,' urged Louis, in a gentle almost coaxing manner. 'I am sure his parents must be poor people to live in this wretched street.'

'Well, have your way!' laughed Jean, not unkindly, as he turned his horse's head. 'He would certainly make a better-looking monarch than that little miserable Matthieu, whom my father talks of sending for if we do not find a substitute before evening.'

'Ay, that would he!' echoed one of their companions; and the rest of the party-eight or nine persons in all,-obeyed Jean's summons to halt, while the two brothers and this one attendant rode back to where the child was standing.

He had been watching them with all his eyes, not in the least disconcerted by having so narrowly escaped an accident a few seconds before. It is not the Duke of Bourbon,' he said to himself; 'they are both too young. I suppose it must be the Duke's sons; the Count of Clermont, and that other. How I wish I had a horse to ride like theirs, a horse that would toss its head and put its feet up grandly like that! What are they coming back for, I wonder?'

He was not long left in doubt; the young noblemen stopped when they came close to him, and the younger of the two leaning down from his saddle-bow, asked kindly, 'What is your name, my child, and your father's? and who was that we heard singing in your house?'

'It was my mother,' said the boy, answering the last question first; 'I wish she would not sing such sad songs, but she ever does, my Lord, except when she sings to me. My father is Jacques d'Orronville-at least the neighbours call him so, because he is a Picard, and comes from Orronville; and my own name is Jean.'

He did not mention this time the soubriquet which he had received from having been born in an inn, for he suddenly bethought him that he had been loquacious enough already. There was an innocent fearlessness in his manner, and a grave inquiring look in his lovely large eyes, which was indescribably winning. Even his namesake, the satirical Jean de Clermont, felt it to be so. 'Go, fetch one of your parents to speak with us,' said he aloud; and then aside to his brother he added. "'Tis a well-favoured child, certainly. I commend your idea of choosing him for our Twelfth-day king.'

At the Count's command, the child darted through the small livingroom, on which the front-door opened, into an inner chamber, from which he presently issued again, bringing his mother with him. She looked a little fluttered-naturally-at being called to speak with such grand personages; but there was a simple sweet dignity about her, uncommon in persons of her class; and though there were marks of pinching poverty in her dress, and her hands were rough with toil, her face was no ordinary one, but had a peculiar touching beauty, which its extreme attenuation and pallor rather enhanced than diminished. As she stood before them, curtsying lowly with unconscious grace, the young nobles felt instinctively that this woman of the people was pure and noble-minded as any high-born lady of their acquaintance.

They told her that they had been struck by her son's bright face, and asked, courteously enough, what she intended to make of him, and what was her husband's occupation, and her own.

'My husband is a lance-maker by trade, an it please your lordships,' she answered quietly; 'but he is infirm and crippled, and can now do naught for his living. Thanks be to the saints, I am able to earn enough for all our wants; for the good, brothers of the congregation of the Trinity, hard by, keep me supplied with work. I am laundress to the monastery.'

And your son, what mean you to make of him?'

'I know not, my Lords; he must work for his living somehow, when he is old enough. He will be proud and pleased to earn money for his father-will you not, my little Jean?' And she put her hand under his chin and lifted his face up to her tender gaze.

:

'Ay, that will I,' said he blithely; 'I mean to ask Master Simon, the armourer, to take me into his workshop.'

VOL. 1.

4

PART 1.

'But would you not like better to be brought up as a scholar, and te grow to be a wise and learned man, an honour to your parents?' asked Louis of Bourbon eagerly.

The child only stared in answer, it was a notion he had never contemplated; but his mother glanced up quickly at the boy-prince, and reading somewhat of his benevolent intentions in his fair young face, answered gratefully,

'Glad, indeed, my Lord, should I be to see my little Jean a holy clerk, skilled in all good learning; though neither his ambition nor mine hath ever reached so high till now.'

'Well, then,' said Jean de Clermont, who was in haste to have the matter settled and done with, bring him to the Hotel Bourbon early to-morrow morn, and if the Duke objects not we will make him our Twelfth-day king. He shall be dressed in brave attire and feasted royally, and afterwards a purse of money shall be given him to provide for his education and maintenance; so that he may become a learned priest instead of only a working-man.'

The mother's face looked brimful of surprise, and of questions which she was too modest to put; but little Jean, less scrupulous, cried out, 'What sort of king shall I be, my Lord? Shall I have a gold crown, and will everybody mind me, and shall I have heralds to go before me?'

'I do not know about the heralds,' said the Count, laughing; 'but you shall have a crown certainly, and we will all be your vassals for the day.' He looked as if he were about to ride off without more ado; but Lord Louis, mindful of the anxiety written on the mother's countenance, hastened to explain. 'You do not know, perhaps, that it is the custom of our noble father, every year, on the day of the kings, to take some poor child and make of him a king for the nonce, and afterwards to take care that he be educated in some college or monastery, and his maintenance duly provided for. So hath he done ever since his return from captivity in England, now many years ago; and as at this moment there doth not happen to be any child in whom he feels special interest, he hath left it to us to choose a king for the morrow. Are you content that we should make choice of your son?'

'I am well content, my Lord, for my own part, and grateful to boot; and Father Ambrose, at the monastery, can tell you that my Jean has good parts, and is like to make an apt scholar if he will but give his mind to it; but I know not whether my husband-'

'We cannot tarry longer,' said the Count, whose high-mettled horse was pawing the ground impatiently as if ready to burst away; 'I doubt not that your husband will give his consent willingly if you make it plain to him, that by choosing your son as our little king we undertake to befriend him through all his after-life. Good day to you.-Come, Louis!' and with a good-natured careless nod he dashed off.

The more thoughtful Louis tarried a moment still. If your husband likes not the plan you can let us know,' he said, not without a touch of