So now all that she had to do was to go straight back to her father, tell him all that she knew and then go--go back to the dear old convent at Segovia--having done more than a woman’s share in the service of her country--and then to rest after that--to spend her life in peace and in prayer--away from all political intrigues--forgetting that she had ever been young and felt a vague yearning for happiness. VI Mark had made no sign or movement while Lenora stood there before him, gathering her strength together for what she felt might prove a struggle. In some unaccountable way she felt a little afraid of him--not physically of course, but, despite the fact that she had so impulsively judged him just now--afraid of that searching glance of his which seemed to lay her innermost thoughts like an open book before his eyes. She put this strange timidity of hers down to the knowledge that he had certain lawful rights over her as her lord and husband and that she would have to obtain his consent before she could think of going to Brussels on the morrow. "Messire," she said abruptly, "during this day which you have seen fit to spend among your habitual boon companions, making merry no doubt, I have been a great deal alone. Solitude begets sober reason--and I have come to the conclusion that life under present conditions would be a perpetual martyrdom to me." She paused and he rejoined quietly: "I don’t think I quite understand, Madonna. Under what conditions would your life become a martyrdom?" "Under those of a neglected wife, Messire," she said. "I have no mind to sit at home--an object of suspicion to your kinsfolk and of derision to your servants, while the whole town is alive with the gossip that Messire Mark van Rycke spent the first day of his marriage in the taverns of Ghent and left his bride to pine in solitude." "But methought, Madonna," he retorted, "that it was solitude that you craved for. Both last night and even a moment ago you told me very plainly that you had no desire for my company." "Last night I was overwrought and would have made amends to you for my thoughtlessness at once, only that you left me incontinently without a further word. As for now, Messire, surely you cannot wonder that I have no mind for your society after a day’s carouse has clouded your brain and made your glance unsteady." She thought herself very brave in saying this, and more than half expected an angry retort from him. Instead of which he suddenly threw back his head and burst into an immoderate and merry laughter. She gazed at him horrified and not a little frightened--thinking indeed that his brain was overclouded--but he, as soon as he had recovered his composure, asked her with grave attempt at seriousness: "You think that I am drunk, Madonna? Ye gods!" he exclaimed not without a touch of bitterness, "hath such a farce ever been enacted before?"