"Will you answer a fair question fairly, Master Gilbert?" he asked, looking his friend in the eyes.
Gilbert had fallen into the habit of treating him like a man, as most people did, excepting the Queen, and gravely nodded an answer.
"Do you not think that the Queen of France is the most beautiful woman in the world?"
"Yes," answered Gilbert, without a smile, and without the slightest hesitation.
The boy's eyes, that were so near together, gleamed and fixed themselves in rising anger, while a dark red flush mounted from his bare throat to his cheeks, and from his cheeks to his forehead.
"Then you love her?" he asked fiercely, and the words were thick on his lips.
Gilbert was not easily surprised, but the conclusion was so sudden and unexpected that he stared for a moment in blank amazement before he smiled.
"I?" he exclaimed. "I love the Queen? I should as soon think of coveting the King's crown!"
Henry looked into Gilbert's face a moment longer, and the blood slowly subsided from his own.
"I can see that you are in earnest," he said, picking up the ball at his feet, "though I cannot see why a man should not covet a king's crown as well as a king's wife." He struck the ball.