“Never woman was more consummate hypocrite,” muttered Henry.
“You do not credit me, I see,” cried Anne.
“If I did not, I should know how to act,” replied the king. “You remember my pledge?”
“Full well,” replied Anne; “and if love and duty would not restrain me, fear would.”
“So I felt,” rejoined the king; “but there are some of your sex upon whom nothing will operate as a warning—so faithless and inconstant are they by nature. It has been hinted to me that you are one of these; but I cannot think it. I can never believe that a woman for whom I have placed my very throne in jeopardy—for whom I have divorced my queen-whose family I have elevated and ennobled—and whom I have placed upon the throne would play me false. It is monstrous-incredible!”
“It is—it is!” replied Anne.
“And now farewell,” said Henry. “I have stayed longer than I intended, and I should not have mentioned these accusations, which I regard as wholly groundless, unless you had reproached me.”
And he quitted the chamber, leaving Anne in a strange state of perplexity and terror.