to England, and possibly William de Montmorency accompanied them, since Desormeaux expressly states that he guaranteed the loyal observance of the treaty then negotiated.  William was the father of Anne, the famous Constable of France, and died May 24, 1531.  “Geburon,” in the dialogue following the above tale, mentions that he had well known the Montmorency referred to, and speaks of him as of a person dead and gone.  It is therefore scarcely likely that Queen Margaret alludes to Francis de Montmorency, Lord of La Rochepot, who was only sent on a mission to England in 1546, and survived her by many years.—­L. and Ed.

One day, at a banquet that the King gave to him, he was seated beside a lord (2) of high lineage, who had on his doublet a little glove, such as women wear, fastened with hooks of gold and so adorned upon the finger-seams with diamonds, rubies, emeralds and pearls, that it was indeed a glove of great price.

2 The French word is Millor (Milord) and this is probably one of the earliest instances of its employment to designate a member of the English aristocracy.  In such of the Cent Nouvelles Nouvelles in which English nobles figure, the latter are invariably called seigneurs or chevaliers, and addressed as Monseigneur, Later on, when Brantome wrote, the term un milord anglais had become quite common, and he frequently makes use of it in his various works.  English critics have often sneered at modern French writers for employing the expression, but it will be seen from this that they have simply followed a very old tradition.—­Ed.

The Lord de Montmorency looked at it so often that the English lord perceived he was minded to inquire why it was so choicely ordered; so, deeming its story to be greatly to his own honour, he thus began—­

“I can see that you think it strange I should have so magnificently arrayed a simple glove, and on my part I am still more ready to tell you the reason, for I deem you an honest gentleman and one who knows what manner of passion love is, so that if I did well in the matter you will praise me for it, and if not, make excuse for me, knowing that every honourable heart must obey the behests of love.  You must know, then, that I have all my life long loved a lady whom I love still, and shall love even when I am dead, but, as my heart was bolder to fix itself worthily than were my lips to speak, I remained for seven years without venturing to make her any sign, through fear that, if she perceived the truth, I should lose the opportunities I had of often being in her company; and this I dreaded more than death.  However, one day, while I was observing her in a meadow, a great throbbing of the heart came upon me, so that I lost all colour and control of feature.  Perceiving this, she asked me what the matter was, and I told her that I felt an intolerable pain of the heart.  She, believing it to be caused by a different sickness than love, showed herself pitiful towards me, which prompted me to beg her to lay her hand upon my heart and see how it was beating.  This, more from charity than from any other affection, she did, and while I held her gloved hand against my heart, it began to beat and strain in such wise, that she felt that I was speaking the truth.  Then I pressed her hand to my breast, saying—­