“Wait here a moment,” said Mary, looking at him; and she got up and went out.
Anthony still sat staring and thinking of the horror. Presently Mary was at his side again with a tall venetian wine-glass brimming with white wine.
“Here,” she said, “drink this,”—and then—“have you dined to-day?”
“There was not time,” said Anthony.
She frowned at him almost fiercely.
“And you come here fasting,” she said, “to face the Queen! You foolish boy; you know nothing. Wait here,” she added imperiously, and again she left the room.
Anthony still stared out of doors, twisting the empty glass in his hand; until again came her step and the rustle of her dress. She took the glass from him and put it down. A servant had followed her back into the room in a minute or two with a dish of meat and some bread; he set it on the table, and went out.
“Now,” said Mary, “sit down and eat before you speak another word.” And Anthony obeyed. The servant presently returned with some fruit, and again left them. All the while Anthony was eating, Mary sat by him and told him how she had heard the whole story from another Catholic at court; and how the Queen had questioned her closely the night before, as to what the marks of tears meant on her cheeks.
“It was when I heard of the racking,” explained Mary, “I could not help it. I went up to my room and cried and cried. But I would not tell her Grace that: it would have been of no use; so I said I had a headache; but I said it in such a way as to prepare her for more. She has not questioned me again to-day; she is too full of anger and of the bear-baiting; but she will—she will. She never forgets; and then Mr. Anthony, it must be you to tell her. You are a pleasant-faced young man, sir, and she likes such as that. And you must be both forward and modest with her. She loves boldness, but hates rudeness. That is why Chris is so beloved by her. He is a fool, but he is a handsome fool, and a forward fool, and withal a tender fool; and sighs and cries, and calls her his Goddess; and says how he takes to his bed when she is not there, which of course is true. The other day he came to her, white-faced, sobbing like a frightened child, about the ring she had given Monsieur le petit grenouille. And oh, she was so tender with him. And so, Mr. Anthony, you must not be just forward with her, and frown at her and call her Jezebel and tyrant, as you would like to do; but you must call her Cleopatra, and Diana as well. Forward and backward all in one; that is the way she loves to be wooed. She is a woman, remember that.”
“I must just let my heart speak,” said Anthony, “I cannot twist and turn.”