“And what think you—shall she be happy? Shall she have gifts of fate?”
“Discriminately so, Amicitia. She shall have souvenirs and no suspicions of fate. But she shall not linger here, for all lingerers in Delicio’s court are spied upon—not for their souls’ good. She shall go hence, and—”
“Ay, princely lady, she shall go hence,” interposed Lemprière, who had panted to speak and could bear silence no longer. “Her high Majesty will kiss her on the brow, and in Jersey Isle she shall blossom and bloom and know bounty—or never more shall I have privilege and perquage.”
He lumbered forward and kissed Angèle’s hand as though conferring distinction, but with great generosity. “I said that all should go well, and so it shall. Rozel shall prevail. The Queen knows on what rock to build, as I made warrant for her, and will still do so.”
His vanity was incorrigible, but through it ran so childlike a spirit that it bred friendship and repulsed not. The Duke’s Daughter pressed the arm of Angèle, who replied:
“Indeed, it has been so according to your word, and we are—I am—shall ever be beholden. In storm you have been with us, so true a pilot and so brave a sailor; and if we come to port and the quiet shore, there shall be spread a feast of remembrance which shall never grow cold, seigneur.”
“One ingle-nook right warm shall be
Where my heart hath good company,”
sang the fool, and catching by the arm Buonespoir, who ducked his head in farewell, ran him into the greenwood. Angèle came forward as if to stay Buonespoir, but stopped short reflectively. As she did so the Duke’s Daughter whispered quickly into Lemprière’s ear.
Swelling with pride he nodded, and said, “I will reach him and discover myself to him, and bring him, if he stray, most undoubted and infallible lady,” and with an air of mystery he made a heavily respectful exit.