The Franciscan bowed his head.
“Is Father Jerome aware that she to whom he has sent you has lapsed from the faith?” said the King.
“He is, Sire,” replied the monk, in tones that sounded strangely hollow, “but he hopes she may still be reclaimed. With the design of rendering some aid in the good work, I have come hither. Great success has hitherto attended my efforts; and therefore it is that good Father Jerome, who is deeply interested in Mistress Constance’s spiritual welfare, hath selected me for the office.”
“An opportunity shall be afforded you of making the attempt,” said the King. “There can be no reason why this holy man should not be admitted to her,” he added to Mallet. “Take him to her cell.”
“Mistress Constance is not in her cell at present, Sire,” observed Mallet.
“Where is she, then?” cried the King, sharply.
“She is with her Majesty, Sire,” replied Mallet.
“With the Queen?” exclaimed Philip, surprised. “Go into the tower, good father, and await her return.”
“Ha, here comes Mistress Constance,” exclaimed Rodomont, as the damsel, escorted by Simnel and Holiday, issued from the palace, and made her way towards the Lollards’ Tower. Bowing humbly to the King, she would have passed on, had he not stopped her.
“You have been with her Majesty, as I understand?” he said. “How fares it with her now?”