‘I believe that is the very truth,’ she owned, and looked wistfully into his face. Signior Davy went downstairs.
She pleaded for a little time. She had not confessed for five days—she was not ready—there should be more form observed in the mating of princes—what was the English use? In France—but this was not France.
He admitted everything. And yet, he said, the heart was an instant lover, happiest in simplicity. A prince was a prince from birth, before the solemn anointing. So a bride might be a wife before the Queen had a Consort.
‘True,’ she said, ‘but a sovereign should consult his subjects.’
‘Ah, sister,’ says he, ‘what woman could be denied her heart’s choice?’
She hid her face. ‘God knoweth, God knoweth I do well!’
‘Why, then, courage!’ said he. ‘Content your God, madam, and follow conscience. It lies not in woman born to do better.’
At this point the Italian came back, leading my lord. The prince was flushed, as always at night, but sober, and undoubtedly moved. He knelt before her Majesty unaffectedly, bowing his head. ‘Oh, madam, my sovereign——’ he began to say; but then she gave a little sharp cry, and took him up. Tenderly she looked at him, searching his face.
‘Oh, I am here, my lord. Do you seek me?’