“A swan upon a sea of azure, two stars above, and over all a sword with a wreath around its point,” answered Lempriere simply, unsuspecting irony, and touched by Leicester’s flint where he was most like to flare up with vanity. “Ah!” said Leicester. “And the motto?” “Mea spes supra stella--my hope is beyond the stars.” “And the wreath--of parsley, I suppose?” Now Lempriere understood, and he shook with fury as he roared: “Yes, by God, and to be got at the point of the sword, to put on the heads of insolents like Lord Leicester!” His face was flaming, he was like a cock strutting upon a stable mound. There fell a slight pause, and then Leicester said: “To-morrow at daylight, eh?” “Now, my lord, now!” “We have no seconds.” “‘Sblood! ‘Tis not your way, my lord, to be stickling in detail of courtesy.” “‘Tis not the custom to draw swords in secret, Lempriere of Rozel. Also my teeth are not on edge to fight you.” Lempriere had already drawn his sword, and the look of his eyes was as that of a mad bull in a ring. “You won’t fight with me--you don’t think Rozel your equal?” His voice was high. Leicester’s face took on a hard, cruel look. “We cannot fight among the ladies,” he said quietly. Lempriere followed his glance, and saw the Duke’s Daughter and another in the trees near by. He hastily put up his sword. “When, my lord?” he asked. “You will hear from me to-night,” was the answer, and Leicester went forward hastily to meet the ladies--they had news no doubt. Lempriere turned on his heel and walked quickly away among the trees towards the quarters where Buonespoir was in durance, which was little more severe than to keep him within the palace yard. There he found the fool and the pirate in whimsical converse. The fool had brought a letter of inquiry and warm greeting from Angele to Buonespoir, who was laboriously inditing one in return. When Lempriere entered the pirate greeted him jovially. “In the very pinch of time you come,” he said. “You have grammar and syntax and etiquette.” “‘Tis even so, Nuncio,” said the fool. “Here is needed prosody potential. Exhale!” The three put their heads together above the paper. CHAPTER XI “I would know your story. How came you and yours to this pass? Where were you born? Of what degree are you? And this Michel de la Foret, when came he to your feet--or you to his arms? I would know all. Begin where life began; end where you sit here at the feet of Elizabeth. This other cushion to your knees. There--now speak. We are alone.”