Meg.'Tis full of them! I mean—ah, we have jails,
But foes like these are wary, slip all watch,—
Flee and dart back, our weariness their charter
To tread with havoc's hoof. If I could find
Rejan LeVal, then might I rest from guard,
But not while he—unlassoed warrigal!—
May canter from his thicket and paw up
Peonia's fields!
Her. I'll lend an adjutant.
Ask Chartrien, who knows each foggy nook
And smirchèd corner of the capital,—
Having once made his pastime serve a quest
For such drab knowledge,—ask him help you find
This traitor.
Meg. Chartrien! Nay, the fox is safe
When th' hound too wears a brush.
Her. You mean the prince?
Speak, sir! Who hints me calumny,
Shall make the drum his chorus. I'll hear all.
Meg. A rumor drifts through Goldusan....
Her. Is that
An oddity? Here rumors are too thick
For ears to gather them.
Meg. But this—O, princess....
Fairest of earth, forgive me that I speak!
Her. You do not speak. And that I'll not forgive.
Meg. Ah, then,—but first,—is Chartrien near the king?
Her. No nearer than his heart.