It was more than eight months since she had seen him. Before this, for two or three years she had believed that they could not separate without their hearts breaking. Her only consolation had been that he was working for her sake in doing some deed for the King.
But it was a weak consolation.
She wept for the sake of relief, for her pent-up tears would have choked her if she had not poured them forth. Was it joy or pain that held her silent? both, perhaps, for many mighty emotions dissolve in tears.
With more love even than respect, Charny went up to her, took one of her hands away from her face and said as he applied his lips to it:
"Madam, I am proud and happy to say that not an hour has been without toil for you since I went hence."
"Oh, Charny," retorted the Queen, "there was a time when you might have been less busy on my account but you would have thought the more of me."
"I was charged by the King with grave responsibility, which imposed the more strict silence until the business was accomplished. It is done at present. I can see and speak with you now, but I might not write a letter up to this period."
"It is a fine sample of loyalty, and I regret that it should be performed at the expense of another sentiment, George," she said with melancholy.
She pressed his hand tenderly, while eyeing him with that gaze for which once he would have flung away the life still at her service.
She noticed that he was not the courier dusty and bloody from spurring, but the courtier spic and span according to the rules of the Royal Household. This complete attire visibly fretted the woman while it must have satisfied the exacting Queen.