A herald commanded silence, and the bishop spoke:--
"It is the will of our most gracious lord that I announce to the court
the impending marriage of Her Grace, the Princess, Mademoiselle de
Burgundy, to the princely Dauphin of France, son to our lord's royal
ally, King Louis. His Grace of Burgundy hopes within three weeks to open
his campaign against the Swiss, and it is his intention to cause the
marriage ceremony to take place before his departure. When the details
have been arranged, they will be announced to the court."
The bishop had barely stopped speaking when the shutter in the chancel
of the ladies' gallery above the throne opened, and a voice rang through
the vast audience hall, like the tones of an alarm bell:--
"Make one more announcement, please, my Lord Bishop. Say that if this
wondrous ceremony is to come off within three weeks, the Dauphin of
France must be content with a dead bride."
No one saw the face of the speaker. The shutter closed, and a deep
silence fell upon the room. The duke sprang angrily to his feet; his
face was like a thunder-cloud. He looked toward the ladies' gallery, and
stood for a moment like the incarnation of wrath. A puzzled expression
followed the glare of anger; and within a moment he laughed, and waved
his hands to the heralds, directing them to cry the rising. The
audience was dismissed, and the courtiers left the hall, laughing in
imitation of their lord and master.
Nothing could be more indicative of cruelty than the laughter that
followed the passionate protest of the unhappy princess.
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