“You think she means well by you? You think that she, who has a thousand ladies of a kingdom at her call, of the best and most beautiful--and even,” his voice softened, “though you are more beautiful than all, that beauty would soften her towards you? When was it Elizabeth loved beauty? When was it that her heart warmed towards those who would love or wed? Did she not imprison me, even in these palace grounds, for one whole year because I sought to marry? Has she not a hundred times sent from her presence women with faces like flowers because they were in contrast to her own? Do you see love blossoming at this court? God’s Son! but she would keep us all like babes in Eden and she could, unmated and unloved.” He drew quickly to her and leaned over her, whispering down her shoulder. “Do you think there is any reason why all at once she should change her mind and cherish lovers?” She looked up at him fearlessly and firmly. “In truth, I do. My Lord Leicester, you have lived in the circle of her good pleasure, near to her noble Majesty, as you say, for half a lifetime. Have you not found a reason why now or any time she should cherish love and lovers? Ah, no; you have seen her face, you have heard her voice, but you have not known her heart!” “Ah, opportunity lacked,” he said, in irony and with a reminiscent smile. “I have been busy with state affairs, I have not sat on cushions, listening to royal fingers on the virginals. Still, I ask you, do you think there is a reason why from her height she should stoop down to rescue you or give you any joy? Wherefore should the Queen do aught to serve you? Wherefore should she save your lover?” It was on Angèle’s lips to answer, “Because I saved her life on May Day.” It was on her lips to tell of the poisoned glove, but she only smiled, and said: “But, yes, I think, my lord, there is a reason, and in that reason I have faith.” Leicester saw how firmly she was fixed in her idea, how rooted was her trust in the Queen’s intentions towards her; and he guessed there was something hidden which gave her such supreme confidence. “If she means to save him, why does she not save him now? Why not end the business in a day--not stretch it over these long midsummer weeks?” “I do not think it strange,” she answered. “He is a political prisoner. Messages must come and go between England and France. Besides, who calleth for haste? Is it I who have most at stake? It is not the first time I have been at court, my lord. In these high places things are orderly“--a touch of sarcasm came into her tone--“life is not a mighty rushing wind save to those whom vexing passion drives to hasty deeds.” She made to move on once more, but paused, still not certain of her way. “Permit me to show you,” he said, with a laugh and a gesture towards a path. “Not that--this is the shorter. I will take you to a turning which leads straight to your durance--and another which leads elsewhere!”