The seigneur looked down at her with boyish appreciation, then said to De la Forêt: “Two queens make claim for you. The wolfish Catherine writes to England for her lost Camisard, with much fool’s talk about ‘dark figures,’ and ‘conspirators,’ ‘churls,’ and foes of ‘soft peace,’ and England takes the bait and sends to Sir Hugh Pawlett yonder. And, in brief, monsieur, the governor is to have you under arrest and send you to England. God knows why two queens make such a pother over a fellow with naught but a sword and a lass to love him—though, come to think, ‘a man’s a man if he have but a hose on his head,’ as the proverb runs.”
De la Forêt smiled, then looked grave as he caught sight of Angèle’s face. “’Tis arrest, then?” he asked.
“’Tis come willy-nilly,” answered the seigneur. “And once they’ve forced you from my doors, I’m for England to speak my mind to the Queen. I can make interest for her presence—I hold court office!” he added, with puffing confidence.
Angèle looked up at him with quick tears, yet with a smile on her lips.
“You are going to England for Michel’s sake?” she said, in a low voice.
“For Michel, or for you, or for mine honor,—what matter, so that I go?” he answered, then added, “There must be haste to Rozel, friend, lest the governor take Lemprière’s guest like a potato-digger in the fields.”
Putting spurs to his horse, he cantered heavily away, not forgetting to wave a pompous farewell to Angèle.
De la Forêt was smiling as he turned to Angèle. She looked wonderingly at him, for she had felt that she must comfort him, and she looked not for this sudden change in his manner.
“Is prison-going so blithe, then?” she asked, with a little uneasy laugh which was half a sob.