“She sends for me!” he muttered; “What for? To amuse herself by reading every thought of my life with her cold eyes? Why can she not leave me alone?”
He walked on then, with a quiet, even pace, and presently reaching the end of the alley, came out on a soft stretch of greensward facing a small ornamental lake and fountain. Here grew tall rushes, bamboos and flag-flowers—here, too, on the quiet lake floated water-lilies, white and pink, opening their starry hearts to the glory of the morning sun. A quaintly shaped, rustic arbour covered with jasmine, faced the pool, and here sat the Queen alone and unattended, save by Teresa de Launay, who drew a little apart as her brother, Sir Roger, approached, and respectfully bent his head in the Royal presence. For quite a minute he stood thus in dumb attention, his eyes lowered, while the Queen glanced at him with a curious expression, half of doubt, half of commiseration. Suddenly, as if moved by a quick impulse, she rose—a stately, exquisite figure, looking even more beautiful in her simple morning robe of white cashmere and lace, than in all the glory of her Court attire,—and extended her hand. Humbly and reverentially he bent over it, and kissed the great jewel sparkling like a star on the central finger. As he then raised his eyes to her face she smiled;—that smile of hers, so dazzling, so sweet, and yet so cold, had sent many men to their deaths, though she knew it not.
“I see very little of you, Sir Roger,” she said slowly, “notwithstanding your close attendance on my lord the King. Yet I know I can command your service!”
“Madam,” murmured De Launay, “my life——”
“Oh, no,” she rejoined quickly, “not your life! Your life, like mine, belongs to the King and the country. You must give all, or not at all!”
“Madam, I do give all!” he answered, with a look in his eyes of mingled pain and passion; “No man can give more!”
She surveyed him with a little meditative, almost amused air.
“You have strong feelings, Sir Roger,” she said; “I wonder what it is like—to feel?”
“If I may dare to say so, Madam, I should wish you to experience the sensation,” he returned somewhat bitterly; “Sometimes we awaken to emotions too late—sometimes we never awaken. But I think it is wisest to experience the nature of a storm, in order to appreciate the value of a calm!”
“You think so?” She smiled indulgently. “Storm and calm are to me alike! I am affected by neither. Life is so exceedingly trivial an affair, and is so soon over, that I have never been able to understand why people should ever trouble themselves about anything in it.”