"The queen-mother has many enemies in Scotland," said the countess, with a pretty little blush,—"Lollard preachers and disaffected peers, men who live by trafficking in court scandal and the circulation of wicked rumours: thus seeking to undermine her influence and to do her evil among the people. Do you understand me?"
"Under favour, I do not."
"Had these men, or such as these, known that a gentleman of your age and appearance was wounded or slain under her windows, all Scotland had declared him to be a lover, attacked by a rival or by the queen's guard; and, believe me, the spies of Somerset and the adherents of Bothwell and Lennox would readily multiply the fatal rumour. Had they learned that a poor wounded youth whom she had rescued from destruction was concealed in her chamber for many days, then still more had he been reputed a lover, and a man devoted to die a cruel death. Do you understand me now?"
"Oh, yes; and feel deeply her most generous clemency, which perilled her reputation for me."
"Mary of Guise and Lorraine was not reared at the court of Catharine de Medicis, nor was she wife of Louis de Longueville, without acquiring the virtues of patience and prudence," said the lady, smiling.
"But you, lady—you, at least, had no such reason for concealment."
"My secret involved that of my mistress; moreover, I had most serious reasons for greater secrecy."
"A jealous husband, perhaps?"
"Nay," said she, laughing, and showing the most beautiful little teeth in the world; "thank Heaven, I have no husband."
Florence began to breathe a little more freely.