“I perceive it,” replied Catherine. “Farewell, Henry—farewell, loved husband of my heart—farewell for ever!”
“Your mask—your mask, madam!” cried Henry impatiently. “God's death! footsteps are approaching. Lot no one enter here!” he cried aloud.
“I will come in,” said Anne Boleyn, stepping into the chapel just as Catherine had replaced her mask. “Ah! your majesty looks confused. I fear I have interrupted some amorous conference.”
“Come with me, Anne,” said Henry, taking her arm, and trying to draw her away—“come with me.”
“Not till I learn who your lady—love is,” replied Anne pettishly. “You affect to be jealous of me, my liege, but I have much more reason to be jealous of you. When you were last at Windsor, I heard you paid a secret visit to a fair maiden near the lake in the park, and now you are holding an interview with a masked dame here. Nay, I care not for your gestures of silence. I will speak.”
“You are distraught, sweetheart,” cried the king. “Come away.”
“No,” replied Anne. “Lot this dame be dismissed.”
“I shall not go at your bidding, minion!” cried Catherine fiercely.
“Ah!” cried Anne, starting, “whom have we here?”
“One you had better have avoided,” whispered Henry.