“If that be all, his Eminence’s sanction can be readily procured, for here he comes,” said Philip.
“The Cardinal here, then he is lost!” mentally ejaculated Constance. “You have come on a vain errand,” she added, to the monk.
“Nay, let us hear what his Eminence has to say to the matter,” observed Philip. And, as Pole came up at the moment, he told him what had occurred.
“Father Jerome must have much confidence in this friar if he imagines he will succeed where we have failed,” remarked Pole. “I will question him, and judge of his fitness for the task. Bring him to me anon,” he added to Rodomont.
“I do not desire to confer with him,” cried Constance, distractedly. “Send him away!—Send him away!”
“What means this strange emotion?” thought the Cardinal. “A word with you, daughter,” he added, taking her aside. “Who is this monk? I must know the truth. Attempt to deceive me, and I will compel him to raise his hood.”
“In mercy spare him,” she rejoined, “If the King beholds his features he is lost.”
“Then it is Osbert Clinton,” said the Cardinal. “I will not betray him, but you must promise to hold no converse with him.”
“I do—I do,” she rejoined.
“Control yourself, or you will excite the King’s suspicions,” pursued the Cardinal. “I am glad I made this discovery in time. I shall warn this rash youth not to come here again. If he does, he must not count on my protection. And now,” he added, so as to be heard by the King, “retire to your cell till a chamber can be prepared for you in the palace. I will speak with this friar anon, and act as may seem best to me in regard to him.”