"
"An affair of true love," said the Duchess smiling.
"I know not. Oh! ask me not, madame!"
When Grisell was dismissed, she began designing a pattern, in which
in spray after spray of rich point, she displayed in the pure
frostwork-like web, the Daisy of Margaret, the Rose of York, and
moreover, combined therewith, the saltire of Nevil and the three
scallops of Dacre, and each connected with ramifications of the
forget-me-not flower shaped like the turquoises of her pouncet box,
and with the letter G to be traced by ingenious eyes, though the
uninitiated might observe nothing.
She had plenty of time, though the treaty soon made it as much of a
certainty as royal betrothals ever were, but it was not till July
came round again that Bruges was in a crisis of the fever of
preparation to receive the bride. Sculptors, painters, carvers were
desperately at work at the Duke's palace. Weavers, tapestry-workers,
embroiderers, sempstresses were toiling day and night, armourers and
jewellers had no rest, and the bright July sunshine lay glittering on
the canals, graceful skiffs, and gorgeous barges, and bringing out in
full detail the glories of the architecture above, the tapestry-hung
windows in the midst, the gaily-clad Vrows beneath, while the bells
rang out their merriest carillons from every steeple, whence
fluttered the banners of the guilds.
The bride, escorted by Sir Antony Wydville, was to land at Sluys, and
Duchess Isabel, with little Mary, went to receive her.
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