“Earl Douglas, your arm!” and as the king leaned on it and walked slowly toward the cabinet, at the entrance of which the lord chancellor and the Bishop of Winchester were waiting for him, he asked in a low voice: “You say that Henry Howard dares ever intrude himself into the queen’s presence?”
“Sire, I did not say that; I meant only that he is constantly to be seen in the queen’s presence.”
“Oh, you mean that she perhaps authorizes him to do so,” said the king, grinding his teeth.
“Sire, I hold the queen to be a noble and dutiful wife.”
“I should be quite inclined to lay your head at your feet if you did not!” said the king, in whose face the first lightning of the bursting cloud of wrath began to flash.
“My head belongs to the king!” said Earl Douglas respectfully. “Let him do with it as he pleases.”
“But Howard—you mean, then, that Howard loves the queen?”
“Yes, sire, I dare affirm that.”
“Now, by the Mother of God, I will tread the serpent under my feet, as I did his sister!” exclaimed Henry, fiercely. “The Howards are an ambitious, dangerous, and hypocritical race.”
“A race that never forgets that a daughter of their house has sat on your throne.”