“You are a philosopher, Réné Ronsard,” he said rising from his chair, and laying a hand kindly on his shoulder. “And so, in another way am I! If I understand you rightly, you would maintain that in many cases discontent and disorder are the fermentation in the mind of one man, who for some hidden personal motive works his thought through a whole kingdom; and you suggest that if that man once obtained what he wanted there would be an end of trouble--at any rate for a time till the next malcontent turned up! Is not that so?” “It is so, Sir,” replied Ronsard; “and I think it has always been so. In every era of strife and revolution, we shall find one dissatisfied Soul--often a soul of genius and ambition--at the centre of the trouble.” “Probably you are right,” said the monarch indulgently; “But evidently the dissatisfied soul is not in _your_ body! You are no Don Quixote fighting a windmill of imaginary wrongs, are you?” A dark red flush mounted to the old man’s brow, and as it passed away, left him pale as death. “Sir, I have fought against wrongs in my time; but they were not imaginary. I might have still continued the combat but for Gloria!” “Ah! She is your peace-offering to an unjust world?” “No Sir; she is God’s gift to a broken heart,” replied Ronsard gently. “The sea cast her up like a pearl into my life; and so for her sake I resolved to live. For her only I made this little home--for her I managed to gain some control over the rough inhabitants of these Islands, and encouraged in them the spirit of peace, mirth and gladness. I soothed their discontent, and tried to instil into them something of the Greek love of beauty and pleasure. But after all, my work sprang from a personal, I may as well say a selfish motive--merely to make the child I loved, happy!” “Then do you not regret that she is married, and no longer yours to cherish entirely?” “No, I regret nothing!” answered Ronsard; “For I am old and must soon die. I shall leave her in good and safe hands.” The King looked at him thoughtfully, and seemed about to ask another question, then suddenly changing his mind, he turned to his Consort and said a few words to her in a low tone, whereupon as if in obedience to a command, she rose, and with all the gracious charm which she could always exert if she so pleased, she enquired of Ronsard if he would permit them to see something of the interior of his house. “Madam,” replied Ronsard, with some embarrassment; “All I have is at your service, but it is only a poor place.” “No place is poor that has peace in it,” returned the Queen, with one of those rare smiles of hers, which so swiftly subjugated the hearts of men. “Will you lead the way?” Thus persuaded, Réné Ronsard could only bow a respectful assent, and obey the request, which from Royalty was tantamount to a command. Signing to the other members of the party, who had stood till now at a little distance, the Queen bade them all accompany her.