If
the king had been a scholar in the learning of the Greeks he would
have compared the girl to some one of the glorious goddesses of the
Hellenic Pantheon. As it was, he was merely aware in a fierce way
that the girl was very beautiful, that her beauty appealed to him
very keenly, and stirred in him a keen sense of resentment at his
slighted homage. This girl, whom Thibaut d'Aussigny wanted to marry,
this girl whom the king coveted, this girl whom the mad poet
worshipped, what part would she play in the fantastic comedy which
was gradually shaping itself in the distorted mind of Louis?
Katherine de Vaucelles saw the king, and dropped him a stately
curtsey.
"Where are you going, girl?" Louis asked.
She answered quietly, "To her majesty, sire, who bade me gather
roses."
"Give me one," said the king, and then as the girl handed him one of
the longest and reddest of her splendid cargo, the king lightly
swaying the flower, brushed the girl's flower face with it and
surveyed her mockingly.
"You are a pretty child," he said. "You might have had a king's
love. Well, well, you were a fool. Does not Thibaut d'Aussigny woo
you?"
"He professes to love me, sire, and I profess to hate him.
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