"Not to the Queen?" she asked, still playfully.
But he was serious at once. "Aye—ever to the Queen, in duty bound—by kinsman's ties—by knighthood's vows—by my honor, by her sorrows, and by my will—yet this hindereth not that there should be one——"
"Methinks my stirrup is caught fast in the housing!" she interrupted with an exclamation of dismay: and there was naught to do for the Bernardini but to dismount and readjust it,—she—talking brightly the while, of many things for which at that moment he cared naught; and less, because it was she who spoke.
But when they were riding side by side again, and the city was coming nearer, he would not be put off for any whim of hers.
"If thou hast discovered my secret—which I would fain know—most worshipful Dama Margherita,—I would that thou shouldst proclaim it wherever thy tongue listeth. 'Quel che Iblin è, non si può trovar!'"
He knew that the old Cyprian proverb, "Such another as Iblin is, may not be found," was the pride of her house, and would reach the tenderest spot in her loyal heart.
She turned to him gravely: "Dear Signor Bernardini, let it not be spoken between us," she said. "For the Queen hath sore need of us—of our every thought and care."
"Might we not serve her better so?" he pleaded.
But she shook her head. "Thou who hast been all faith and service, counting thy life naught—thou knowest. She in her trouble should see that we think but of her."
"Is this thy answer—most worshipful Margherita?"