This was for the king.

Half-past one had just struck when this window was filled.
First came Henri III., pale, almost bald, although he was at that time only thirty-five, and with a somber expression, always a mystery to his subjects, who, when they saw him appear, never knew whether to say "Vive le Roi!" or to pray for his soul.

He was dressed in black, without jewels or orders, and a single diamond shone in his cap, serving as a fastening to three short plumes.

He carried in his hand a little black dog that his sister-in-law Marie Stuart had sent him from her prison, and on which his fingers looked as white as alabaster.
Behind the king came Catherine de Medicis, almost bowed by age, for she might be sixty-six or sixty-seven, but still carrying her head firm and erect, and darting bitter glances from under her thick eyebrows.

At her side appeared the melancholy but sweet face of the queen, Louise de Torraine.