On Michel de la Forêt entering the presence the Queen’s attention had become riveted. She felt in him a spirit of mastery yet of unselfish purpose. Here was one, she thought, who might well be in her household or leading a regiment of her troops. The clear, fresh face, curling hair, direct look, quiet energy, and air of nobility--this sort of man could only be begotten of a great cause; he were not possible in idle or prosperous times. Elizabeth looked him up and down, then affected surprise. “Monsieur de la Forêt,” she said, “I do not recognize you in this attire”--glancing towards his dress. De la Forêt bowed, and Elizabeth continued, looking at a paper in her hand: “You landed on our shores of Jersey in the robes of a priest of France. The passport for a priest of France was found upon your person when our officers in Jersey made search of you. Which is yourself--Michel de la Forêt, soldier, or a priest of France?” De la Forêt replied, gravely, that he was a soldier and that the priestly dress had been but a disguise. “In which papist attire, methinks, Michel de la Forêt, soldier and Huguenot, must have been ill at ease--the eagle with the vulture’s wing. What say you, monsieur?” “That vulture’s wing hath carried me to a safe dove-cote, your gracious Majesty,” he answered, with a low obeisance. “I’m none so sure of that, monsieur,” was Elizabeth’s answer, and she glanced quizzically at Leicester, who made a gesture of annoyance. “Our cousin, France, makes you to us a dark intriguer and conspirator, a dangerous weed in our good garden of England, a ‘troublous, treacherous violence’--such are you called, monsieur.” “I am in your high Majesty’s power,” he answered, “to do with me as it seemeth best. If your Majesty wills it that I be returned to France, I pray you set me upon its coast as I came from it, a fugitive. Thence will I try to find my way to the army and the poor, stricken people of whom I was. I pray for that only, and not to be given to the red hand of the Medici.” “Red hand--by my faith, but you are bold, monsieur!” Leicester tapped his foot upon the floor impatiently, then caught the Queen’s eye and gave her a meaning look. De la Forêt saw the look and knew his enemy, but he did not quail. “Bold only by your high Majesty’s faith, indeed,” he answered the Queen, with harmless guile. Elizabeth smiled. She loved such nattering speech from a strong man. It touched a chord in her deeper than that under Leicester’s finger. Leicester’s impatience only made her more self-willed on the instant. “You speak with the trumpet note, monsieur,” she said to De la Forêt. “We will prove you. You shall have a company in my Lord Leicester’s army here, and we will send you upon some service worthy of your fame.”