Mary was at supper with six persons, having, say de Thou and Melville, Rizzio seated on her right; while, on the contrary, Carapden assures us that he was eating standing at a sideboard. The talk was gay and intimate; for all were giving themselves up to the ease one feels at being safe and warm, at a hospitable board, while the snow is beating against the windows and the wind roaring in the chimneys. Suddenly Mary, surprised that the most profound silence had succeeded to the lively and animated flow of words among her guests since the beginning of supper, and suspecting, from their glances, that the cause of their uneasiness was behind her, turned round and saw Darnley leaning on the back of her chair. The queen shuddered; for although her husband was smiling when looking at Rizzio, this smile had assumed such a strange expression that it was clear that something terrible was about to happen. At the same moment, Mary heard in the next room a heavy, dragging step draw near the cabinet, then the tapestry was raised, and Lord Ruthven, in armour of which he could barely support the weight, pale as a ghost, appeared on the threshold, and, drawing his sword in silence, leaned upon it. The queen thought he was delirious. “What do you want, my lord?” she said to him; “and why do you come to the palace like this?” “Ask the king, madam,” replied Ruthven in an indistinct voice. “It is for him to answer.” “Explain, my lord,” Mary demanded, turning again towards Darnley; “what does such a neglect of ordinary propriety mean?” “It means, madam,” returned Darnley, pointing to Rizzio, “that that man must leave here this very minute.” “That man is mine, my lord,” Mary said, rising proudly, “and consequently takes orders only from me.” “To me, Douglas!” cried Darnley.