The King kept all day near his decoy and his victim. He never interfered with their conversation, but when it languished he was always at hand to supply some fresh topic. They spoke French, which was understood and employed fluently by all three; but Kent knew no Italian, and Lucia no English. The King spoke Lucia's language well--a fact which greatly assisted an occasional "aside." But Lucia was only half aware of the state of affairs, and it would not have suited Henry's purpose to inform her too fully. She knew that she was expected to make herself agreeable to the Earl of Kent, and that he was a cousin and favourite of the King--so far as a man of Henry's stamp can be said to have had any favourites. But of the plot for which she was made the innocent decoy, she had not the faintest idea. The shades of evening began to fall at last, and the royal bugle-horn was sounded to call the stragglers home. Kent and Lucia were riding together. They had reached a fork in the road, where the right-hand path branched off to Berkhamsted, and the left to Langley. And all at once there arose before Kent's soul a haunting memory--a memory which was to haunt him for many a day thereafter; and between his eyes and the fair face of the Italian Princess came another face, shaded with soft light hair, and lighted by sapphire eyes, which, he thought, were probably watching even now from the oriel window at Langley. He checked his horse, and wavered irresolutely for an instant. He did not know that Constance was no longer at Langley. He did not know that at the very moment when he paused at the cross-roads, she was passing the threshold of the Tower as a prisoner of state. For that one moment Kent's better angel strove with his weak nature. But the phase of "_beaucoup_" was over, and "_point du tout_" was beginning. Lucia saw the momentary irresolution. She touched her palfrey lightly with the whip, and turned her splendid eyes on her votary. "This way, Monseigneur--come!" The struggle was over. Kent spurred on his charger, and followed his enchantress. There was another scene enacting at the same time, and not far away. The Duke of York and Lord Richard of Conisborough were riding home to Langley. The brothers were very silent; Richard because he was sad and anxious, Edward because he was vexed and sullen. They had just heard of their sister's arrest. The portcullis at Langley was visible, when Edward smote his hand on the pommel of his saddle--a much more elaborate structure than gentlemen's saddles now--with a few words of proverbial Spanish. "Patience, and shuffle the cards! I may yet go to Rome, and come back Saint Peter." Richard lifted his mournful eyes to his brother's face. "Ned!" he said in a low voice, "it were better to abide a forest hind, methinks, than to come back Jude the Iscariot." "What meanest, Dickon?" "Take no heed what I meant, so it come not true."