“Then the knave hath a ready wit,” returned the queen. “He has put thoughts into my head which I cannot banish thence.”
“Indeed!” exclaimed the earl. “I trust his boldness has not offended you.”
“Do I look so?” rejoined Mary, smiling. “If I do, my countenance belies my feelings. No, Courtenay, I have been thinking that no woman can govern a great kingdom, like mine, unaided. She must have some one, to whom she can ever apply for guidance and protection,—some one to whom she can open her whole heart,—to whom she can look for counsel, consolation, love. In whom could she find all this?”
“In no one but a husband, gracious madam,” replied Courtenay, who felt he could no longer affect to misunderstand her.
“You are right, my lord,” she replied playfully. “Can you not assist our choice?”
“If I dared,”—said Courtenay, who felt he was standing upon the verge of a precipice.
“Pshaw!” exclaimed Mary. “A queen must ever play the wooer. It is part of her prerogative. Our choice is already made—so we need not consult you on the subject.”
“May I not ask whom your majesty has so far distinguished?” demanded the earl, trembling.
“You shall learn anon, my lord,” replied the queen. “We choose to keep you a short time in suspense, for here comes Simon Renard, and we do not intend to admit him to our confidence.”
“That man is ever in my path,” muttered the earl, returning the ambassador s stern glance with one equally menacing. “I am half reconciled to this hateful alliance by the thought of the mortification it will inflict upon him.”