Emboldened by the permission, he hurried on:—
‘I would lay all I have—my fame, my happiness, my life, nay, my very soul—at your Majesty’s feet, and thank and bless you, even did you trample them to dust. O madam! have you not read of such devotion? can you not believe in it? Do you not know that there may exist a love so pure, so holy, so self-denying, that its blessing and its privilege is to give all and ask for nothing in return?’
Again she looked around her, startled and confused, but there were no listeners near. Still the strain of ‘the Purpose’ stole soft and low and soothing on her ear. She resolved she must never hear him speak again like this; but the moments were all the more precious at the time. It would be too unkind to check him harshly now. He was madly in love with her, no doubt; and his punishment would come quite soon enough: meantime, she thought it better to treat the whole affair playfully.
‘I too can write verses,’ said she, with a bright smile. ‘Shall I repeat you a couplet or two I composed to-day? They are not amiss, Chastelâr, at least for a queen! and considering they are in rhyme, they are tolerably true—too true, I fear; the more the pity. Listen, Troubadour, and take a lesson in your own trade; moreover, beseech you, mark the moral, for that is the whole merit of the stave:—
‘Wild Folly, so the legends tell,
Was wedded to a maid,
A dusky maid that used to dwell
In drowsy summer-shade.
‘Their offspring is a fairy elf,
A thing of tricks and wiles;