Hereupon, the Protestant divines, who had listened with great satisfaction, moved on, and Rogers followed them with a firm step.
While this occurred, Osbert Clinton had contrived to steal unperceived to the sacristy. Constance had just recovered from her swoon. Luckily, no one was with her but Rodomont, the monk who had tended her having just quitted the chamber.
“Why have you come here, Sir?” cried Rodomont. “Matters were bad enough before, but your imprudence will make them ten times worse. If the King discovers you, you are lost.”
“I care not what happens to me,” replied Osbert. “I could not keep away. Fear nothing, Constance,” he added, “I will not quit you more.”
“This is madness,” cried Rodomont. “The King is certain to come hither, and then you will be arrested. Hide yourself in this cupboard[cupboard],” he added, opening the door of a large oak ambry reared against the wall. “It only contains a few priestly vestments, and you can stand upright within it.”
But Osbert refused to move.
“Do as he recommends, I implore you,” said Constance to him. “You will throw away your life by staying with me.”
“To be sure he will,” rejoined Rodomont, dragging him away, and forcing him into the ambry, the door of which he shut.
The step was only just taken in time. In another moment, the King came into the sacristy, and seeing that Constance had recovered, he signed to Rodomont to leave the chamber.
“I have much to say to you, Constance,” he began, “but this is not the moment for it. Are you still in the same mood as when I saw you last?[last?] Has no change been wrought in your sentiments?”