“Lord, Lord, Lord, hear this vast infant, this hulking baby of a Seigneur, this primeval innocence! Listen to him, cousin,” said the Queen, turning again to the Duke’s Daughter. “Was ever the like of it in any kingdom of this earth? He chooses a penniless exile--he, a butler to the Queen, with three dove-cotes and the perquage--and a Huguenot withal. He is refused; then comes the absent lover over sea, to shipwreck; and our Seigneur rescues him, ‘fends him; and when yon master exile is in peril, defies his Queen’s commands”--she tapped the papers lying beside her on the table--“then comes to England with the lady to plead the case before his outraged sovereign, with an outlawed buccaneer for comrade and lieutenant. There is the case, is’t not?” “I swore to be her friend,” answered Lempriere stubbornly, “and I have done according to my word.” “There’s not another nobleman in my kingdom who would not have thought twice about the matter, with the lady aboard his ship on the high seas-’tis a miraculous chivalry, cousin,” she added to the Duke’s Daughter, who bowed, settled herself again on her velvet cushion, and looked out of the corner of her eyes at Lempriere. “You opposed Sir Hugh Pawlett’s officers who went to arrest this De la Foret,” continued Elizabeth. “Call you that serving your Queen? Pawlett had our commands.” “I opposed them but in form, that the matter might the more surely be brought to your Majesty’s knowledge.” “It might easily have brought you to the Tower, man.” “I had faith that your Majesty would do right in this, as in all else. So I came hither to tell the whole story to your judicial Majesty.” “Our thanks for your certificate of character,” said the Queen, with amused irony. “What is your wish? Make your words few and plain.” “I desire before all that Michel de la Foret shall not be returned to the Medici, most radiant Majesty.” “That’s plain. But there are weighty matters ‘twixt France and England, and De la Foret may turn the scale one way or another. What follows, beggar of Rozel?” “That Mademoiselle Aubert and her father may live without let or hindrance in Jersey.” “That you may eat sour grapes ad eternam? Next?” “That Buonespoir be pardoned all offences and let live in Jersey on pledge that he sin no more, not even to raid St. Ouen’s cellars of the muscadella reserved for your generous Majesty.” There was such humour in Lempriere’s look as he spoke of the muscadella that the Queen questioned him closely upon Buonespoir’s raid; and so infectious was his mirth, as he told the tale, that Elizabeth, though she stamped her foot in assumed impatience, smiled also. “You shall have your Buonespoir, Seigneur,” she said; “but for his future you shall answer as well as he.” “For what he does in Jersey Isle, your commiserate Majesty?”