‘It is Master Knox, the Genevan preacher,’ said Des-Essars. ‘I think there is more danger to the Queen’s heart in this man’s keeping than in that of the whole Privy Council of this kingdom.’
Monsieur de Châtelard was profoundly surprised. ‘I had never considered him at all,’ he admitted. ‘In my country, Jean-Marie, and I suppose in yours also, we do not consider the gentry of religion until our case is become extreme. Of what kindred is this man?’
‘He is of the sons of Adam, I suppose, and a tall one. I have seen him.’
‘You mistake me, my boy. Hath he blood, for example?’
‘Sir, I will warrant it very red. In fine, sir, this man is King of Scotland; and, though it may surprise you to hear me say so, I will be so bold as to add in your private ear, that no true lover of the Queen my mistress could wish her to give up her heart into any other keeping which this country can furnish.’
Monsieur de Châtelard, after a short, quick turn about the room, came back to Des-Essars vivacious and angry. ‘You speak absurdly, like the pert valet you are likely to become. What can you know of love—you, who dare to dispose of your mistress’s heart in this fashion?’
Des-Essars looked grave. ‘It is open to me, young as I am, to love the Queen my mistress, and to desire her welfare. I love her devotedly; but I swear that I desire nothing else. Nor does my partner and sworn ally, Monsieur Adam de Gordon.’
‘Love,’ said Monsieur de Châtelard, tapping his bosom, ‘severs brotherhoods and dissolves every oath. It is a perfectly selfish passion: even the beloved must suffer for the lover’s need. Do you and your partner suppose that you can stay my advance? The thought is laughable.’
‘We neither suppose it nor propose it,’ replied the youth. ‘We are considering the case of Mr. Knox, and are agreed that, detestable as his opinions may be, there is great force in them because of the great force in himself. We think he may draw the Queen’s favour by the very neglect he hath of it; and although our natures would lead us to advance the suit of my Lord Gordon, who is my colleague’s blood-brother, as you know—for all that, it is our deliberate intention to throw no obstacle in the way of any pretensions this Master Knox may chance to exhibit.’
‘And, pray,’ cried Monsieur de Châtelard, drawing himself up, ‘and, pray, how do you look upon my pretensions, which, I need not tell you, do not embrace marriage?’