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246 In the meantime, Francesca's favour with the Queen apparently increased daily; she was even named to accompany her en calèche, with Madame de Mercœur and Christina, the day previous to the departure of the latter.

The morning was delicious, and, arrived at a sheltered portion of the gardens, they alighted for the sake of walking. In the first avenue which they entered, they met Voiture. Voiture belonged to a race of poets essentially French, who sacrificed to the graces instead of the muses; to whom Cupid, with his wings and arrows, was the ideal of love, and whose art of poetry consisted in epigram, tournure, readiness, and facility. Mademoiselle expressed the spirit of the times, when she said, "Trifles weary me, excepting verses, and I am fond of them."

But the passion which gives its deep and melancholy tone to our English imaginative literature was unknown across the channel. Feeling never got beyond sentiment; and that bien arrangé. The heart's faith was but la galanterie—a term, by the by, which our word gallantry does not translate. Voiture carried this talent to perfection. His letters were charming—full of point and flattery; and his conversation sparkled with bon-mots and compliments. The Queen beckoned