No man’s self-control could meet such a surprise without wavering. Leicester was confounded, for he had not known that Lemprière was housed with De la Forêt. For a moment he could do naught but gaze at Lemprière. Then, as the seigneur suddenly swayed, and would have fallen, the instinct of effective courtesy, strong in him, sent him with arms outstretched to lift him up. Together, without a word, he and De la Forêt carried him to the couch and laid him down. That single act saved Leicester’s life. There was something so naturally (though, in truth, it was so hypocritically) kind in the way he sprang to his enemy’s assistance that an old spirit of fondness stirred in the Queen’s breast, and she looked strangely at him. When, however, they had disposed of Lemprière, and Leicester had turned again towards her, she said: “Did you think I had no loyal and true gentlemen at my court, my lord? Did you think my leech would not serve me as fair as he would serve the Earl of Leicester? Ye have not bought us all, Robert Dudley, who have bought and sold so long. The good leech did your bidding and sent your note to the lady; but there your bad play ended and Fate’s began. A rabbit’s brains, Leicester--and a rabbit’s end. Fate has the brains you need.” Leicester’s anger burst forth now under the lash of ridicule. “I cannot hope to win when your Majesty plays Fate in caricature.” With a little gasp of rage Elizabeth leaned over and slapped his face with her long glove. “Death of my life! but I who made you do unmake you,” she cried. He dropped his hand on his sword. “If you were but a man--and not--” he said, then stopped short, for there was that in the Queen’s face which changed his purpose. Anger was shaking her, but there were tears in her eyes. The woman in her was stronger than the queen. It was nothing to her at this moment that she might have his life as easily as she had struck his face with her glove; this man had once shown the better part of himself to her, and the memory of it shamed her for his own sake now. She made a step towards the door, then turned and spoke: “My lord, I have no palace and no ground wherein your footstep will not be trespass. Pray you, remember.” She turned towards Lemprière, who lay on his couch faint and panting. “For you, my Lord of Rozel, I wish you better health, though you have lost it somewhat in a good cause.” Her glance fell on De la Forêt. Her look softened. “I will hear you preach next Sunday, sir.”