They clinked and rattled, the little pellets of red and yellow and green, rolling, glinting over the floor and rapping up against the oak panels at the base of the walls.
"They will do for the governess if the archbishop comes at last," she cried.
He was more convinced than ever that she had lost her wits.

A thought struck him by which he might appeal to all that was softer and more gentle in her nature.

He stepped swiftly to the door, pushed it half open, and gave a whispered order.

A youth with long golden hair waving down over his black velvet doublet entered the room.

It was her youngest son, the Count of Toulouse.
"I thought that you would wish to bid him farewell," said Louis.
She stood staring as though unable to realise the significance of his words.