“You call me your good angel, my husband,” said she, with a smile; “but yet I am nothing more than your little Puck, who bustles about you, and now and then makes you laugh with his drolleries.”
“And a dear little Puck you are, Katie,” cried the king, who always gazed upon his wife’s rosy and fresh countenance with real satisfaction.
“Then I will prove myself this very day your Puck, and allow you no more repose on your couch,” said she, as she made a mock effort to raise him up. “Do you know, my husband, why I came here? A butterfly has tapped at my window. Only think now, a butterfly in winter! That betokens that this time winter is spring; and the clerk of the weather above there has confounded January with March. The butterfly has invited us, king; and only see! the sun is winking into the window to us, and says we have but to come out, as he has already dried the walks in the garden below, and called forth a little grass on the plat. And your rolling chair stands all ready, my lord and husband, and your Puck, as you see, has already put on her furs, and clad herself in armor against the winter, which, however, is not there!”
“Well, then, help me, my dearest Puck, so that I can arise, and obey the command of the butterfly and the sun and my lovely wife,” cried the king, as he put his arm around Catharine’s neck, and slowly raised himself from the couch.
She busied herself about him with officious haste; she put her arm tenderly on his shoulder and supported him, and properly arranged for him the gold chain, which had slipped out of place on his doublet, and playfully plaited the lace ruff which was about his neck.
“Is it your order, my husband, that your servants come?—the master of ceremonies, who, without doubt, awaits your back in the anteroom—the lord bishop—who a while ago made such a black-looking face at me? But how! my husband, your face, too, is now in an eclipse? How? Has your Puck perchance said something to put you out of tune?”
“No, indeed!” said the king, gloomily; but he avoided meeting her smiling glance and looking in her rosy face.
The evil thoughts had again awoke in him; and he now remembered the warrant of arrest that he had given Gardiner. He remembered it, and he regretted it. For she was so fair and lovely—his young queen; she understood so well by her jests to smooth away care from his brow, and affright vexation from his soul—she was such an agreeable and sprightly pastime, such a refreshing means of driving away ennui.
Not for her sake did he regret what he had done, but only on his own account. From selfishness alone, he repented having issued that order for the queen’s imprisonment. Catharine observed him. Her glance, sharpened by inward fear, read his thoughts on his brow, and understood the sigh which involuntarily arose from his breast.
She again seized courage; she might succeed in turning away by a smile the sword that hung over her head.