The blood came back to the seigneur’s heart, but he did not dare look up yet, and he did not see that Elizabeth was in rare mirth at his words; and though she had no ken or memory of him, she read his nature and was mindful to humor him. Beckoning Leicester to her side, she said a few words in an undertone, to which he replied with a smile more sour than sweet. “Rise, Monsieur of Rozel,” she said. The seigneur stood up, and met her gaze faintly. “And so, proud seigneur, you must needs flout e’en our Lord Chamberlain, in the name of our butler with three dove-cotes and the perquage. In sooth thy office must not be set at naught lightly--not when it is flanked by the perquage. By my father’s doublet, but that frieze jerkin is well cut; it suits thy figure well--I would that my Lord Leicester here had such a tailor. But this perquage--I doubt not there are those here at court who are most ignorant of its force and moment. My Lord Chamberlain, my Lord Leicester, Cecil here--confusion sits in their faces. The perquage, which my father’s patent approved, has served us well, I doubt not, is a comfort to our realm and a dignity befitting the wearer of that frieze jerkin. Speak to their better understanding, Monsieur of Rozel.” “Speak, Nuncio, and you shall have comforts, and be given in marriage, multiple or singular, even as I,” said the fool, and touched him on the breast with his bells. Lemprière had recovered his heart, and now was set full sail in the course he had charted for himself in Jersey. In large words and larger manner he explained most innocently the sacred privilege of _perquage_. “And how often have you used the right, friend?” asked Elizabeth. “But once in ten years, your noble Majesty.” “When last?” “But yesterday a week, your universal Majesty.” Elizabeth raised her eyebrows. “Who was the criminal, what the occasion?” “The criminal was one Buonespoir, the occasion our coming hither to wait upon the Queen of England and our Lady of Normandy, for such is your well-born Majesty to your loyal Jersiais.” And thereupon he plunged into an impeachment of De Carteret of St. Ouen’s, and stumbled through a blunt, broken story of the wrongs and the sorrows of Michel and Angèle and the doings of Buonespoir in their behalf. Elizabeth frowned and interrupted him. “I have heard of this Buonespoir, monsieur, through others than the Seigneur of St. Ouen’s. He is an unlikely squire of dames. There’s a hill in my kingdom has long bided his coming. Where waits the rascal now?” “In the antechapel, your Majesty.” “By the rood!” said Elizabeth, in sudden amazement. “In my antechapel, forsooth!” She looked beyond the doorway and saw the great, red-topped figure of Buonespoir, his good-natured, fearless face, his shock of hair, his clear blue eye--he was not thirty feet away. “He comes to crave pardon for his rank offences, your benignant Majesty,” said Lemprière.