“I desire to have the entrance to my closet draperied by a screen of crimson velvet edged with gold,” said the Regent on one occasion to Madame de Guercheville; “be good enough to have it done immediately.”

“Your Majesty has probably overlooked the fact that such orders must be issued by the Marquise d’Ancre,” was the formal reply of the stately lady of honour.

“Madame du Fargis,” resumed the Queen, a short time afterwards, “I have mislaid a letter—­a petition—­bearing the name of the Comtesse de Touraine; I wish it to be found and answered.”

“Madame,” responded the beautiful Countess meekly, “the Marquise d’Ancre has charge of all the petitions addressed to your Majesty.”

Marie de Medicis turned away in silence.  She had striven to believe that she could dispense with the services of Leonora; but every day, and almost every hour, she became more convinced of her utter helplessness without her.  Madame d’Ancre had been the playmate of her infancy, the friend of her girlhood; she was the confidante of her most hidden thoughts, her counsellor in difficulty, and her consoler in her moments of trial.  The ill-advised bearing of those about her sufficed to remind her of these facts, and her resolution was forthwith formed.  Concini might still be made to feel and to suffer for his fault, but she could not dispense with the society and support of Leonora.

The Queen retired to her private closet, and the mistress of the robes was summoned to her presence by a page.  As she entered, Marie was startled by the change which had taken place in her appearance; her eyes were swollen with weeping, and her cheek was even more sallow than its wont.  Whatever might be her faults, there can be no doubt that Leonora was deeply and tenderly attached to her royal foster-sister; and that the disgrace into which she had fallen had consequently affected her to an intense degree.  She was no longer the proud and imperious favourite who through the Regent sought to govern France, but a weak and sorrowing woman, mourning over the ruin of all her hopes.

The apartment to which the Queen-mother had so unexpectedly summoned her foster-sister was, as we have said, her private closet, in which she passed several hours each day while residing at the Louvre.  The walls were covered to the height of ten feet from the floor by magnificent hangings of crimson damask, surmounted by a dome of pale blue silk, upon which were elaborately embroidered the arms of the Medici.  From the centre of this dome hung a silver lamp, chiselled by the hand of Benvenuto Cellini, and suspended by a chain of the same metal; a table of carved oak stood in the centre of the room, upon which were placed a pair of globes, sundry astronomical instruments, an illuminated missal, and a flask of Hungary water; while a low divan, heaped with cushions of black velvet sprinkled with fleurs-de-lis in gold, occupied two entire sides of the apartment, and completed its furniture.