Constance looked thin and pale, but her colour heightened as she beheld Philip seated near the Queen. The blush, however, quickly faded away, and was succeeded by a death-like pallor, but she did not lose her self-possession. Advancing towards her, the Cardinal said, in a low tone,—
“Kneel to her Majesty. Peradventure, you may move her compassion.”
Constance did as she was bidden, and threw herself at the Queen’s feet, crying,—
“If I have offended your Majesty, I implore your forgiveness.”
“What have I to forgive you, minion?—what have you done?” said Mary, fixing a searching look upon her. “I know nothing of your proceedings since you fled from Hampton Court. Where have you hidden yourself? Why were you brought here? Speak!”
“It is a long story to tell, Madam,” cried Constance, troubled by the stern gaze of the King.
“On peril of your life, I command you to conceal nothing from me!” cried Mary, with a burst of uncontrollable fury. “Confess your guilt, or I will wrest the avowal of it from you by torture. Speak out, and you have nothing to fear—but hesitate, equivocate, palter with me, and you are lost.”
“As I hope for salvation, Madam,” rejoined Constance, “I have nothing to confess.”
“It is false!” cried the Queen, with increasing fury. “I read your guilt in your looks. You cannot regard me in the face, and declare you have not injured me.”
“I can look Heaven itself in the face, and declare I am innocent of all offence towards your Majesty,” rejoined Constance.