“Oh, then, madam!” pursued Norris, “since the king is so regardless of you, why trouble yourself about him? There are those who would sacrifice a thousand lives, if they possessed them, for your love.”
“I fear it is the same with all men,” rejoined Anne. “A woman's heart is a bauble which, when obtained, is speedily tossed aside.”
“Your majesty judges our sex too harshly,” said Norris. “If I had the same fortune as the king, I should never change.”
“The king himself once thought so—once swore so,” replied Anne petulantly. “It is the common parlance of lovers. But I may not listen to such discourse longer.”
“Oh, madam!” cried Norris, “you misjudge me greatly. My heart is not made of the same stuff as that of the royal Henry. I can love deeply—devotedly—lastingly.”
“Know you not that by these rash speeches you place your head in jeopardy?” said Anne.
“I would rather lose it than not be permitted to love you,” he replied.
“But your rashness endangers me,” said the queen. “Your passion has already been noticed by Jane Seymour, and the slightest further indiscretion will be fatal.”
“Nay, if that be so,” cried Norris, “and your majesty should be placed in peril on my account, I will banish myself from the court, and from your presence, whatever the effort cost me.”
“No,” replied Anne, “I will not tax you so hardly. I do not think,” she added tenderly, “deserted as I am by the king, that I could spare you.”