LADY MAGDALEN. Stupid soldiers oft are bold. Poor lads, they see not what the general sees, A risk of utter ruin. I am _not_ Beyond his aim, or was not. ALICE. Who? Not you? Tell, tell me; save my credit with myself. LADY MAGDALEN. I never breathed it to a bird in the eaves, Would not for all the stars and maiden moon Our drooping Queen should know! In Hampton Court My window look'd upon the corridor; And I was robing;--this poor throat of mine, Barer than I should wish a man to see it,-- When he we speak of drove the window back, And, like a thief, push'd in his royal hand; But by God's providence a good stout staff Lay near me; and you know me strong of arm; I do believe I lamed his Majesty's For a day or two, tho', give the Devil his due, I never found he bore me any spite. ALICE. I would she could have wedded that poor youth, My Lord of Devon--light enough, God knows, And mixt with Wyatt's rising--and the boy Not out of him--but neither cold, coarse, cruel, And more than all--no Spaniard. LADY CLARENCE. Not so loud. Lord Devon, girls! what are you whispering here? ALICE. Probing an old state-secret--how it chanced That this young Earl was sent on foreign travel, Not lost his head. LADY CLARENCE. There was no proof against him. ALICE. Nay, Madam; did not Gardiner intercept A letter which the Count de Noailles wrote To that dead traitor Wyatt, with full proof Of Courtenay's treason? What became of that? LADY CLARENCE. Some say that Gardiner, out of love for him, Burnt it, and some relate that it was lost When Wyatt sack'd the Chancellor's house in Southwark. Let dead things rest. ALICE. Ay, and with him who died Alone in Italy. LADY CLARENCE. Much changed, I hear, Had put off levity and put graveness on. The foreign courts report him in his manner Noble as his young person and old shield. It might be so--but all is over now; He caught a chill in the lagoons of Venice, And died in Padua. MARY (_looking up suddenly_). Died in the true faith? LADY CLARENCE. Ay, Madam, happily. MARY. Happier he than I. LADY MAGDALEN. It seems her Highness hath awaken'd. Think you That I might dare to tell her that the Count-- MARY. I will see no man hence for evermore, Saving my confessor and my cousin Pole. LADY MAGDALEN. It is the Count de Feria, my dear lady. MARY. What Count? LADY MAGDALEN. The Count de Feria, from his Majesty King Philip. MARY. Philip! quick! loop up my hair! Throw cushions on that seat, and make it throne-like. Arrange my dress--the gorgeous Indian shawl That Philip brought me in our happy days!-- That covers all. So--am I somewhat Queenlike, Bride of the mightiest sovereign upon earth? LADY CLARENCE. Ay, so your Grace would bide a moment yet. MARY. No, no, he brings a letter. I may die Before I read it. Let me see him at once. _Enter_ COUNT DE FERIA (_kneels_).