"
And as if overcome by painful emotion, Lady Jane sank down at
Catharine's feet, and hid her head in the folds of the queen's robe.
Catharine bent down to raise her and take her to her heart. Suddenly
she started, and a deathly paleness overspread her face. "The king,"
whispered she, "the king is coming!"
CHAPTER III.
KING HENRY THE EIGHTH.
Catharine was not deceived. The doors were opened, and on the
threshold appeared the lord marshal, with his golden mace.
"His majesty the king!" whispered he, in his grave, solemn manner,
which filled Catharine with secret dread, as though he were
pronouncing the sentence of death over her.
But she forced a smile and advanced to the door to receive the king.
Now was heard a thunder-like rumble, and over the smoothly carpeted
floor of the anteroom came rolling on the king's house equipage.
This house equipage consisted of a large chair, resting on castors,
which was moved by men in the place of horses, and to which they
had, with artful flattery, given the form of a triumphal car of the
old victorious Roman Caesars, in order to afford the king, as he
rolled through the halls, the pleasant illusion that he was holding
a triumphal procession, and that it was not the burden of his heavy
limbs which fastened him to his imperial car. King Henry gave ready
credence to the flattery of his truckle-chair and his courtiers, and
as he rolled along in it through the saloons glittering with gold,
and through halls adorned with Venetian mirrors, which reflected his
form a thousandfold, he liked to lull himself into the dream of
being a triumphing hero, and wholly forgot that it was not his
deeds, but his fat, that had helped him to his triumphal car.
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