Malcolm shuddered, and murmured, ‘Such a pearl to such a hog!’

And meanwhile, King James, stepping forward, intimated to the Duke that he would be glad of an interview with him.

Philippe made some ostentation of his numerous engagements with men of Church and State; but ended by inviting the King of Scotland to sup with him that evening, if his Grace would forgive travellers’ fare and a simple reception.

Thither accordingly James repaired on foot, attended only by Sir Nigel and Malcolm, with a few archers of the royal guard, in case torches should be wanted on the way home.

How magnificent were the surroundings of the great Duke, it would be wearisome to tell.  The retainers in the court of the hotel looked, as James said, as if honest steel and good cloth were reckoned as churls, and as if this were the very land of Cockaigne, as Sir Richard Whittington had dreamt it.  Neither he nor St. Andrew himself would know their own saltire made in cloth of silver, ‘the very metal to tarnish!’

Sir Nigel had to tell their rank, ere the porters admitted the small company:  but the seneschal marshalled them forward in full state.  And James never looked more the king than when, in simple crimson robe, the pure white cross on his breast, his auburn hair parted back from his noble brow, he stood towering above all heads, passively receiving the Duke of Burgundy’s elaborate courtesies and greetings, nor seeming to note the lavish display of gold and silver, meant to amaze the poorest king in Europe.

Exceeding was the politeness shown to him—­even to the omission of the seneschal’s tasting each dish presented to the Duke, a recognition of the presence of a sovereign that the two Scots scarcely understood enough for gratitude.

Malcolm was the best off of the two at the supper; for James had of course to be cavalier to the sickly fretful-looking Dauphiness, while Malcolm fell to the lot of the Lady Anne, who, though not beautiful, had a kindly hearty countenance and manner, and won his heart by asking whether the Demoiselle de Luxemburg were still in the suite of Madame of Hainault; and then it appeared that she had been her convent mate and warmest friend and admirer in their girlish days at Dijon, and was now longing to see her.  Was she as much set as ever on being a nun?

Meantime, the Duke was pompously making way for the King of Scots to enter his cabinet, where—­with a gold cup before each, a dish of comfits and a stoup of wine between them—­their interview was to take place.

‘These dainties accord with a matter of ladies’ love,’ said James, as the Duke handed him a sugar heart transfixed by an arrow.

‘Good, good,’ said Philippe.  ’The alliance is noble and our crowns and influence might be a good check in the north to your mighty neighbour; nor would I be hard as to her dowry.  Send me five score yearly of such knaves as came with Buchan, and I could fight the devil himself.  A morning gift might be specified for the name of the thing—­but we understand one another.’