“Though wintry blasts may prove unkind, When winter’s past we do forget; Love’s breast in summer-time is kind, And all’s well while life’s with us yet-- Hey, ho, now the lark is mating, Life’s sweet wages are in waiting!” Thus sang the fool as the two warriors were helped to their feet. Cumbered with their armor, and all dust-covered and blood-stained, though not seriously hurt, they were helped to their horses, and rode to the dais where the Queen sat. “Ye have fought like men of old,” she said, “and neither had advantage at the last. England’s champion still may cry his challenge and not be forsworn, and he who challenged goeth in honor again from the lists. You, sir, who have challenged, shall we not see your face or hear your voice? For what country, for what prince lifted you the gauge and challenged England’s honor?” “I crave your high Majesty’s pardon”--Angèle’s heart stood still. Her love had not pierced his disguise, though Leicester’s hate had done so on the instant--“I crave your noble Majesty’s grace,” answered the stranger, “that I may still keep my face covered in humility. My voice speaks for no country and for no prince. I have fought for mine own honor, and to prove to England’s Queen that she hath a champion who smiteth with strong arm, as on me and my steed this hath been seen to-day.” “Gallantly thought and well said,” answered Elizabeth; “but England’s champion and his strong arm have no victory. If gifts were given they must needs be cut in twain. But answer me, what is your country? I will not have it that any man pick up the gauge of England for his own honor. What is your country?” “I am an exile, your high Majesty; and the only land for which I raise my sword this day is that land where I have found safety from my enemies.” The Queen turned and smiled at the Duke’s Daughter. “I knew not where my own question might lead, but he hath turned it to full account,” she said, under her breath. “His tongue is as ready as his spear. Then ye have both labored in England’s honor, and I drink to you both,” she added, and raised to her lips a glass of wine which a page presented. “I love ye both--in your high qualities,” she hastened to add, with dry irony, and her eye rested mockingly on Leicester. “My lords and gentlemen and all of my kingdom,” she added, in a clear voice, insistent in its force, “ye have come upon May Day to take delight of England in my gardens, and ye are welcome. Ye have seen such a sight as doeth good to the eyes of brave men. It hath pleased me well, and I am constrained to say to you what, for divers great reasons, I have kept to my own counsels, laboring for your good. The day hath come, however, the day and the hour, when ye shall know that wherein I propose to serve you as ye well deserve. It is my will--and now I see my way to its good fulfilment--that I remain no longer in that virgin state wherein I have ever lived.”