He began to think upon ways and means to meet this sudden preference of the Queen, made sharply manifest, as he waited in the antechamber, by a summons to the refugee to enter the Queen’s apartments. When the refugee came forth again he wore a sword the Queen had sent him, and a packet of Latimer’s sermons were under his arm. Leicester was unaware that Elizabeth herself did not see De la Forêt when he was thus hastily called; but that her lady-in-waiting, the Duke’s Daughter, who figured so largely in the pictures Lemprière drew of his experiences at Greenwich Palace, brought forth the sermons and the sword, with this message from the Queen: “The Queen says that it is but fair to the sword to be by Michel de la Forêt’s side when the sermons are in his hand, that his choice have every seeming of fairness. For her Majesty says it is still his choice between the Sword and the Book till Trinity Day.” Leicester, however, only saw the sword at the side of the refugee and the gold-bound book under his arm as he came forth, and in a rage he left the palace and gloomily walked under the trees, denying himself to every one. To seize De la Forêt, and send him to the Medici, and then rely on Elizabeth’s favor for his pardon, as he had done in the past? That might do, but the risk to England was too great. It would be like the Queen, if her temper was up, to demand from the Medici the return of De la Forêt, and war might ensue. Two women, with two nations behind them, were not to be played lightly against each other, trusting to their common-sense and humor. As he walked among the trees, brooding with averted eyes, he was suddenly faced by the Seigneur of Rozel, who also was shaken from his discretion and the best interests of the two fugitives he was bound to protect by a late offence against his own dignity. A seed of rancor had been sown in his mind which had grown to a great size, and must presently burst into a dark flower of vengeance. He, Lemprière of Rozel, with three dove-cotes, the _perquage_, and the office of butler to the Queen, to be called a “farmer,” to be sneered at--it was not in the blood of man, not in the towering vanity of a Lemprière, to endure it at any price computable to mortal mind. Thus there were in England on that day two fools (there are as many now), and one said: “My Lord Leicester, I crave a word with you.” “Crave on, good fellow,” responded Leicester, with a look of boredom, making to pass by. “I am Lemprière, Lord of Rozel, my lord--” “Ah yes, I took you for a farmer,” answered Leicester. “Instead of that, I believe you keep doves, and wear a jerkin that fits like a king’s. Dear Lord, so does greatness come with girth!” “The king that gave me dove-cotes gave me honor, and ’tis not for the Earl of Leicester to belittle it.” “What is your coat of arms?” said Leicester, with a faint smile, but in an assumed tone of natural interest.