At Angèle’s entrance a form slowly raised itself on a couch, and a
voice, not Michel’s, said: “Mademoiselle--by our Lady, ’tis she!”
It was the voice of the Seigneur of Rozel, and Angèle started back,
amazed.
“You, monsieur--you!” she gasped. “It was you that sent for me?”
“Send? Not I--I have not lost my manners yet. Rozel at court is no
greater fool than Lemprière in Jersey.”
Angèle wrung her hands. “I thought it De la Forêt who was ill. The
surgeon said to come quickly.”
Lemprière braced himself against the wall, for he was weak and his
fever still high. “Ill?--not he! As sound in body and soul as any
man in England. That is a friend, that De la Forêt lover of yours, or
I’m no butler to the Queen. He gets leave and brings me here, and
coaxes me back to life again--with not a wink of sleep for him these
five days past till now.”
Angèle had drawn nearer, and now stood beside the couch, trembling
and fearful, for it came to her mind that she had been made the
victim of some foul device. The letter had read: “_Your friend is
ill._” True, the seigneur was her friend, but he had not sent for
her.
“Where is De la Forêt?” she asked, quickly.
“Yonder, asleep,” said the seigneur, pointing to a curtain which
divided the room from one adjoining.
Angèle ran quickly towards the door, then stopped short. No, she
would not waken him. She would go back at once. She would leave the
palace by the way she came. Without a word she turned and went
towards the door opening into the hallway. With her hand upon the
latch she stopped short again, for she realized that she did not
know her way through the passages and corridors, and that she must
make herself known to the servants of the palace to obtain guidance
and exit. As she stood helpless and confused, the seigneur called,
hoarsely, “De la Forêt! De la Forêt!”
Before Angèle could decide upon her course the curtain of the other
room was thrust aside and De la Forêt entered. He was scarce awake,
and he yawned contentedly. He did not see Angèle, but turned towards
Lemprière. For once the seigneur had a burst of inspiration. He saw
that Angèle was in the shadow, and that De la Forêt had not observed
her. He determined that the lovers should meet alone.
“Your arm, De la Forêt,” he grunted. “I’ll get me to the bed in
yonder room--’tis easier than this couch.”
“Two hours ago you could not bear the bed, and must get you to the
couch--and now! Seigneur, do you know the weight you are?” he added,
laughing, as he stooped, and, helping Lemprière gently to his feet,
raised him slowly in his arms and went heavily with him to the
bedroom. Angèle watched him with a strange thrill of timid admiration
and delight. Surely it could not be that Michel--her Michel--could be
bought from his allegiance by any influence on earth. There was the
same old simple laugh on his lips as, with chaffing words, he carried
the huge seigneur to the other room. Her heart acquitted him then and
there of all blame, past or to come.
“Michel!” she said aloud, involuntarily--the call of her spirit which
spoke on her lips against her will.
De la Forêt had helped Lemprière to the bed again as he heard his
name called, and he stood suddenly still, looking straight before him
into space. Angèle’s voice seemed ghostly and unreal.
“Michel!” he heard again, and he came forward into the room where she
was. Yet once again she said the word scarcely above a whisper, for
the look of rapt wonder and apprehension in his manner overcame her.
Now he turned towards her, where she stood in the shadow by the
door. He saw her, but even yet he did not stir, for she seemed to him
still an apparition.
With a little cry she came forward to him. “Michel--help me!” she
murmured, and stretched out her hands.
With a cry of joy he took her in his arms, and pressed her to his
heart. Then a realization of danger came to him.
“Why did you come?” he asked.
She told him hastily. He heard with astonishment, and then said:
“There is some foul trick here. Have you the message?” She handed it
to him. “It is the surgeon’s writing, verily,” he said; “but it is
still a trick, for the sick man here is Rozel. I see it all. You and
I forbidden to meet--it was a trick to bring you here!”
“Oh, let me go!” she cried. “Michel, Michel, take me hence!” She
turned towards the door.
“The gates are closed,” he said, as a cannon boomed on the evening
air.
Angèle trembled violently. “Oh, what will come of this?” she cried,
in tearful despair.
“Be patient, sweet, and let me think,” he answered.
At that moment there came a knocking at the door, then it was thrown
open, and there stepped inside the Earl of Leicester, preceded by a
page bearing a torch.
“Is Michel de la Forêt within?” he called; then stopped short, as
though astonished, seeing Angèle.
“So! so!” he said, with a contemptuous laugh.
Michel de la Forêt’s fingers twitched. He quickly stepped in front of
Angèle, and answered: “What is your business here, my lord?”
Leicester languorously took off a glove, and seemed to stifle a yawn
in it; then said: “I came to take you into my service, to urge upon
you for your own sake to join my troops, going upon duty in the
North; for I fear that if you stay here the Queen Mother of France
will have her way. But I fear I am too late. A man who has sworn
himself into service d’amour has no time for service de la guerre.”
“I will gladly give an hour from any service I may follow to teach
the Earl of Leicester that he is less a swordsman than a trickster.”
Leicester flushed, but answered coolly: “I can understand your
chagrin. You should have locked your door. It is the safer custom.”
He bowed slightly towards Angèle. “You have not learned our English
habits of discretion, Monsieur de la Forêt. I would only do you
service. I appreciate your choler. I should be no less indignant. So,
in the circumstances, I will see that the gates are opened--of course
you did not realize the flight of time--and I will take mademoiselle
to her lodgings. You may rely on my discretion. I am wholly at your
service--tout à vous, as who should say in your charming language.”
The insolence was so veiled in perfect outward courtesy that it must
have seemed impossible for De la Forêt to reply in terms equal to the
moment. He had, however, no need to reply, for the door of the room
suddenly opened, and two pages stepped inside with torches. They
were followed by a gentleman in scarlet and gold, who said, “The
Queen!” and stepped aside.
An instant afterwards Elizabeth, with the Duke’s Daughter, entered.
The three dropped upon their knees, and Elizabeth waved without the
pages and the gentleman-in-waiting.
When the doors closed, the Queen eyed the three kneeling figures, and
as her glance fell on Leicester a strange glitter came into her eyes.
She motioned all to rise, and, with a hand upon the arm of the Duke’s
Daughter, said to Leicester:
“What brings the Earl of Leicester here?”
“I came to urge upon monsieur the wisdom of holding to the Sword, and
leaving the Book to the butter-fingered religious. Your Majesty needs
good soldiers.”
He bowed, but not low, and it was clear he was bent upon a struggle.
He was confounded by the Queen’s presence--he could not guess why she
should have come; and that she was prepared for what she saw was
clear.
“And brought an eloquent pleader with you?” She made a scornful
gesture towards Angèle.
“Nay, your Majesty; the lady’s zeal outran my own, and crossed the
threshold first.”
The Queen’s face wore a look that Leicester had never seen on it
before, and he had observed it in many moods.
“You found the lady here, then?”
“With monsieur, alone. Seeing she was placed unfortunately, I offered
to escort her hence to her father. But your Majesty came upon the
moment.”
There was a ring of triumph in Leicester’s voice. No doubt, by some
chance, the Queen had become aware of Angèle’s presence, he thought.
Fate had forestalled the letter he had already written on this
matter, and meant to send her within the hour. Chance had played into
his hands with perfect suavity. The Queen, less woman now than queen,
enraged by the information got he knew not how, had come at once to
punish the gross breach of her orders and a dark misconduct--so he
thought.
The Queen’s look, as she turned it on Angèle, apparently had in it
what must have struck terror to even a braver soul than that of the
helpless Huguenot girl.
“And it is thus you spend the hours of night? God’s faith, but you
are young to be so wanton!” she cried, in a sharp voice. “Get you
from my sight, and out of my kingdom as fast as horse and ship may
carry you, as feet may bear you.” Leicester’s face lighted to hear.
“Your high Majesty,” pleaded the girl, dropping on her knees, “I am
innocent. As God lives, I am innocent.”
“The man, then, only is guilty?” the Queen rejoined, with scorn. “Is
it innocent to be here at night, my palace gates shut, with your
lover--alone?” Leicester laughed at the words.
“Your Majesty, oh, your gracious Majesty, hear me. We were not
alone--not alone--”
There was a rustle of curtains, a heavy footstep, and Lemprière of
Rozel staggered into the room. De la Forêt ran to help him, and,
throwing an arm around him, almost carried him towards the couch.
Lemprière, however, slipped from De la Forêt’s grasp to his knees on
the floor before the Queen.
“Not alone, your high and sacred Majesty--I am here--I have been here
through all. I was here when mademoiselle came, brought hither by
trick of some knave not fit to be your immortal Majesty’s subject. I
speak the truth, for I am butler to your Majesty, and no liar. I am
Lemprière of Rozel.”
No man’s self-control could meet such a surprise without wavering.
Leicester was confounded, for he had not known that Lemprière was
housed with De la Forêt. For a moment he could do naught but gaze at
Lemprière. Then, as the seigneur suddenly swayed, and would have
fallen, the instinct of effective courtesy, strong in him, sent him
with arms outstretched to lift him up. Together, without a word, he
and De la Forêt carried him to the couch and laid him down.
That single act saved Leicester’s life. There was something so
naturally (though, in truth, it was so hypocritically) kind in the
way he sprang to his enemy’s assistance that an old spirit of
fondness stirred in the Queen’s breast, and she looked strangely at
him. When, however, they had disposed of Lemprière, and Leicester had
turned again towards her, she said:
“Did you think I had no loyal and true gentlemen at my court, my
lord? Did you think my leech would not serve me as fair as he would
serve the Earl of Leicester? Ye have not bought us all, Robert
Dudley, who have bought and sold so long. The good leech did your
bidding and sent your note to the lady; but there your bad play ended
and Fate’s began. A rabbit’s brains, Leicester--and a rabbit’s end.
Fate has the brains you need.”
Leicester’s anger burst forth now under the lash of ridicule. “I
cannot hope to win when your Majesty plays Fate in caricature.”
With a little gasp of rage Elizabeth leaned over and slapped his face
with her long glove. “Death of my life! but I who made you do unmake
you,” she cried.
He dropped his hand on his sword. “If you were but a man--and not--”
he said, then stopped short, for there was that in the Queen’s face
which changed his purpose.
Anger was shaking her, but there were tears in her eyes. The woman in
her was stronger than the queen. It was nothing to her at this moment
that she might have his life as easily as she had struck his face
with her glove; this man had once shown the better part of himself to
her, and the memory of it shamed her for his own sake now. She made a
step towards the door, then turned and spoke:
“My lord, I have no palace and no ground wherein your footstep will
not be trespass. Pray you, remember.”
She turned towards Lemprière, who lay on his couch faint and panting.
“For you, my Lord of Rozel, I wish you better health, though you have
lost it somewhat in a good cause.”
Her glance fell on De la Forêt. Her look softened. “I will hear you
preach next Sunday, sir.”
There was an instant’s pause, and then she said to Angèle, with
gracious look and in a low voice: “You have heard from me that
calumny which the innocent never escape. To try you, I neglected you
these many days; to see your nature even more truly than I knew it, I
accused you but now. You might have been challenged first by one who
could do you more harm than Elizabeth of England, whose office is to
do good, not evil. Nets are spread for those whose hearts are simple,
and your feet have been caught. Be thankful that we understand; and
know that Elizabeth is your loving friend. You have had trials--I
have kept you in suspense--there has been trouble for us all; but we
are better now; our minds are more content; so all may be well,
please God! You will rest this night with our lady-dove here, and
to-morrow early you shall return in peace to your father. You have a
good friend in our cousin.” She made a gentle motion towards the
Duke’s Daughter. “She has proved it so. In my leech she has a slave.
To her you owe this help in time of need. She hath wisdom, too, and
we must listen to her, even as I have done this day.”
She inclined her head towards the door. Leicester opened it, and as
she passed out she gave him one look which told him that his game was
lost, if not forever, yet for time uncertain and remote. “You must
not blame the leech, my lord,” she said, suddenly turning back. “The
Queen of England has first claim on the duty of her subjects. They
serve me for love; you they help at need as time-servers.”
She stepped on, then paused again and looked back. “And I forbid
fighting betwixt you,” she said, in a loud voice, looking at De la
Forêt and Leicester.
Without further sign or look, she moved on. Close behind came Angèle
and the Duke’s Daughter, and Leicester followed at some distance.