"Monsieur!"
"A paper, the possession, or supposed possession, of which, on the night that first brought me here, so nearly cost me my life; though by what means those ruffians guessed I was intrusted with it, I know not."
"'Tis a notice of some conspiracy, perhaps?"
"Nay—'tis a letter from his majesty the King of France."
"A letter from the Valois!" reiterated Mary, starting, while her eyes flashed with expectation.
"From Henry II.," replied the youth; and, drawing from his doublet the missive of the Most Christian king, he knelt again on presenting it to Mary of Lorraine.
"Thanks, sir, thanks. How droll, to think that I might have had this letter weeks ago, but for our little romance," she said merrily, while her hazel eyes seemed to dance in light, as she cut open the ribands by the scissors which hung at her gold chatelaine. She hastily read over the letter, the envelope of which, was spotted by the bearer's blood.
"If it please your grace—the news?" said the young lady, her attendant, in a soft voice.
"Countess, approach!" said the queen.
"She's a countess!" said Fawside inaudibly, and his heart sank at the discovery.