with the youth of my household?  Well, I repent not of it—­though Knox termed it sin, and Morton degradation—­I was happy because I saw happiness around me:  and woe betide the wretched jealousy that can extract guilt out of the overflowings of an unguarded gaiety!—­Fleming, if we are restored to our throne, shall we not have one blithesome day at a blithesome bridal, of which we must now name neither the bride nor the bridegroom?  But that bridegroom shall have the barony of Blairgowrie, a fair gift even for a queen to give, and that bride’s chaplet shall be twined with the fairest pearls that ever were found in the depths of Lochlomond; and thou thyself, Mary Fleming, the best dresser of tires that ever busked the tresses of a queen, and who would scorn to touch those of any woman of lower rank—­thou thyself shalt for my love twine them into the bride’s tresses.—­Look, my Fleming, suppose then such clustered locks as these of our Catherine, they would not put shame upon thy skill.’  So saying she passed her hand fondly over the head of her youthful favourite, while her more aged attendant replied despondently, ’Alas, madam, your thoughts stray far from home.’  ‘They do, my Fleming,’ said the queen, ’but is it well or kind in you to call them back?—­God knows they have kept the perch this night but too closely.—­Come, I will recall the gay vision, were it but to punish them.  Yes, at that blithesome bridal, Mary herself shall forget the weight of sorrows, and the toil of state, and herself once more lead a measure.—­At whose wedding was it that we last danced, my Fleming?  I think care has troubled my memory—­yet something of it I should remember, canst thou not aid me?  I know thou canst.’  ‘Alas, madam,’ replied the lady.  ‘What,’ said Mary, ’wilt thou not help us so far? this is a peevish adherence to thine own graver opinion which holds our talk as folly.  But thou art court-bred and wilt well understand me when I say the queen commands Lady Fleming to tell her when she led the last branle.’  With a face deadly pale and a mien as if she were about to sink into the earth, the court-bred dame, no longer daring to refuse obedience, faltered out, ’Gracious lady—­if my memory err not—­it was at a masque in Holyrood—­at the marriage of Sebastian.’  The unhappy queen, who had hitherto listened with a melancholy smile, provoked by the reluctance with which the Lady Fleming brought out her story, at this ill-fated word interrupted her with a shriek so wild and loud that the vaulted apartment rang, and both Roland and Catherine sprung to their feet in the utmost terror and alarm.  Meantime, Mary seemed, by the train of horrible ideas thus suddenly excited, surprised not only beyond self-command, but for the moment beyond the verge of reason.  ‘Traitress,’ she said to the Lady Fleming, ’thou wouldst slay thy sovereign.  Call my French guards—­a moi! a moi! mes Francais!—­I am beset with traitors in mine own palace—­they have murdered my husband—­Rescue!