The token of Queen Melior’s esteem which he was to present had been on exhibition at Brocéliande, and everyone had admired its suitability for a child sovereign. It was a fan with ivory sticks; the spread, painted on chicken skin, showed a group of grotesque musicians in a pastoral landscape; the reverse was scattered with exquisitely painted daisies; it was enclosed in a box of white shagreen, scented with musk, and wrapped in daisy-painted paper with white bows.

At noon precisely he entered the throne room. He noticed a stir among the officials and some glances at the door when no one else came in, but he carried it off. At the end of the long gallery a cluster of court ladies stood on either side of the throne. He had no eyes for them; he had been hard put to it not to blink; he had not expected the child queen would wear spectacles. Whoever had brought her up, she had been very well trained. She sat upright and motionless, with the dignity of some well-set jewel. She was so small that when he knelt before her his forehead was on a level with hers. Like a white radish, he thought: the wide brow, the spacious setting of the eyes, the contraction into a long narrow chin. At odds with the radish comparison was a large hooked nose, an ancestral nose, too large for her face. Though so small, she was no dwarf but well proportioned. The hand she put out to be kissed was firm and well knit. Queen Melior’s letter was delivered and read, then came the turn of the fan. The last bow was untied, the last layer of wrapping paper unfolded by one of her ladies, who handed the shagreen box back to him to give to the Queen. She took out the fan, unfurled it, examined it, closed it—and snapped it in two. Shrew, he noted; for there was nothing of childish naughtiness about the act, and though ‘shrew’ was not the right word, he could not immediately think of a better. He could not immediately think what to do next, either. She saved him the trouble by asking about his journey. Revealed as a shrew, she became of more interest, and though she said nothing remarkable, the narrative of the journey lasted much longer than the time allotted for the baisemain. He forgot to mention the coach falling over the precipice.