"Nay--I thought----" Philippa left the sentence unfinished and folded her work; then she climbed the narrow stair. When the Queen turned and saw her she was standing with her slim hands resting on the battlement. "What are you doing away from your tapestry-frame, wench?" demanded her mistress. "Are you spying on me again?" "Your Grace," Philippa answered gently, "I could never spy on you--not even if my own father wished it. I--I was talking with Master Tomaso last night, and he said strange things about the stars. I would you could have heard him." The Queen laughed scornfully. "As if it were not enough to be prisoned in four walls, the girl wants to believe herself the puppet of the heavens! Look you, silly pigeon, if there be a Plantagenet star you may well fear it, for brother hates brother and all hate their father--and belike will hate their children. Were you asking him the day of my death?" "I was but asking what flowers belonged to the figures of the zodiac in my tapestry," answered Philippa. "He says that a man may rule the stars." "I wish that a woman could," mocked the Queen. "How you silly creatures can go on, sticking the needle in and out, in and out, day after day, I cannot see. One would think that you were weavers of Fate. I had rather cast myself over the battlements than look forward to thirty years of stitchery!" She swept her trailing robes about her and vanished down the stairs. Philippa, following, saw with a certain relief that she turned toward the rooms occupied by old Tomaso. The physician was equal to most situations. Yet in the Queen's present mood anything might arouse her anger. The study was of a quaint, bare simplicity in furnishing. It had a chair, a stool, a bench under the window, a table piled with leather-bound books, a large chest and a small one, an old worm-eaten oaken dresser with some flasks and dishes. A door led into the laboratory, and another into the cell where the philosopher slept. As the Queen entered he rose and with grave courtesy offered her his chair, which she did not take. She stood looking out across the quiet hills, and pressed one hand and then the other against her cheeks--then she turned, a dark figure against the stormy sky. "They say that you know all medicine," she flung out at him. "Have you any physic for a wasted soul?" With a fierce gesture she pointed at the half-open door. "Why do you stay in this dull sodden England--you who are free?" "There are times, your Grace," the physician replied tranquilly, "when I forget whether this is England or Venetia." The Queen moved restlessly about the room, and stopped to look at an herbal. "Will you teach me the properties of plants?" she asked, as she turned the pages carelessly. "With Mary's help we might make here an herb-garden. It is well to know the noxious plants from the wholesome, lest--unintentionally--one should put the wrong flavor in a draught."