Lou. Most insolent! The insult shown to her
Was meant for thee.
Cha. It is not lost. Behold him!
Lou. Smooth thy brow. We must not yet offend one
Who may injure us.
Enter Richemont.
Riche. I forestall all messages,
And come on duty's wings to tend my homage,
With all expressions of my joy, to offer
On this most happy turn of your affairs.
Cha. Our thanks, as due, are thine.
Riche. Rumour reports
Your highness means forthwith to pass to Rheims,
And there in state—
Cha. Then rumour speaks the truth.
Riche. And yet, I crave your grace, a better medium
Might surely have been found, intelligence
Of moment to convey to zealous friends.
Cha. No real friend would claim regard to forms,
In times like these.