Elizabeth gazed at the girl coldly and critically. To women she was not over-amiable; but as she looked at the young Huguenot maid, of this calm bearing, warm of color, clear of eye, and purposeful of face, something kindled in her. Most like it was that love for a cause which was more to be encouraged by her than any woman’s love for a man, which, as she grew older, inspired her with aversion, as talk of marriage brought cynical allusions to her lips.
“I have your letter and its protests and its pleadings. There were fine words and adjurations—are you so religious, then?” she asked, brusquely.
“I am a Huguenot, your noble Majesty,” answered the girl, as though that answered all.
“How is it, then, you are betrothed to a roistering soldier?” asked the Queen.
“Some must pray for Christ’s sake, and some must fight, your most Christian Majesty,” answered the girl.
“Some must do both,” rejoined the Queen, in a kinder voice, for the pure spirit of the girl worked upon her. “I am told that Monsieur de la Forêt fights fairly. If he can pray as well, methinks he shall have safety in our kingdom, and ye shall all have peace. On Trinity Sunday you shall preach in my chapel, Monsieur de la Forêt, and thereafter you shall know your fate.”
She rose. “My lord,” she said to Leicester, on whose face gloom had settled, “you will tell the Lord Chamberlain that Monsieur de la Forêt’s durance must be made comfortable in the west tower of my palace till chapel-going of Trinity Day. I will send him for his comfort and instruction some sermons of Latimer’s.”
She stepped down from the dais. “You will come with me, mistress,” she said to Angèle, and reached out her hand.