“She told it to Leoline, thinking, probably, she had the most sense; and she told it to me, as Leoline's future husband. It is somewhat long to relate, but it will help to beguile the time while we are waiting for the royal summons.”
And hereupon Sir Norman, without farther preface, launched into a rapid resume of La Masque's story, feeling the cold chill with which he had witnessed it creep over him as he narrated her fearful end.
“It struck me,” concluded Sir Norman, “that it would be better to procure any papers she might possess at once, lest, by accident, they should fall into other hands; so I rode there directly, and, in spite of the cantankerous old porter, searched diligently, until I found them. Here they are,” said Sir Norman, drawing forth the roll.
“And what do you intend doing with them?” inquired Hubert, glancing at the papers with an unmoved countenance.
“Show them to the king, and, though his mediation with Louis, obtain for you the restoration of your rights.”
“And do you think his majesty will give himself so much trouble for the Earl of Rochester's page?”
“I think he will take the trouble to see justice done, or at least he ought to. If he declines, we will take the matter in our own hands, my Hubert; and you and I will seek Louis ourselves. Please God, the Earl of Rochester's page will yet wear the coronet of the De Montmorencis!”
“And the sister of a marquis will be no unworthy mate even for a Kingsley,” said Hubert. “Has La Masque left nothing for her?”
“Do you see this casket?” tapping the one of cared brass dangling from his belt; “well, it is full of jewels worth a king's ransom. I found them in a drawer of La Masque's house, with directions that they were to be given to her sisters at her death. Miranda being dead, I presume they are all Leoline's now.”
“This is a queer business altogether!” said Hubert, musingly; “and I am greatly mistaken if King Louis will not regard it as a very pretty little work of fiction.”