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258 it was as if to show the infinite difference that could be wrought by expression. The background of the painting was a crimson velvet curtain, which threw out the drapery of the figure. It was dressed in white satin, unmixed with any colour; the boddice was laced with pearls, but the fair neck and arms wore no ornament; and the profusion of raven black hair hung down in large loose curls, without any visible confinement. The large, soft dark eyes were raised, but seemed rather engrossed by their own feelings—(thoughts are scarcely tender enough for such a look)—than fixed upon any surrounding object.

"It is a lovely portrait; Francesca will, of course, adopt a dress honoured by your Grace's approval."

Louis looked at Francesca, who, colouring a little, bent her head in silence.

"I have lately," remarked Mazarin, "Added to my collection of royal likenesses; this is a very scarce one of Francis the First."

"I am proud of my ancestor," exclaimed Louis, gazing on it with an animation which suspended everything else for the moment; "I envy the glory which yet lingers round the name of France's most chivalrous king. Ah! but for my mother's fearful love, I should now be at the