XVI
Angele had come to know, as others in like case have ever done, howwretched indeed is that poor man that hangs on princes' favors. Shehad saved the Queen's life upon May Day, and on the evening of thatday the Queen had sent for her, had made such high and tenderacknowledgment of her debt as would seem to justify for her perpetualhonor. And what Elizabeth said she meant; but in a life set inforests of complications and opposing interests the politicaloverlapped the personal in her nature. Thus it was that she had keptthe princes of the world dangling, advancing towards marriage withthem, retreating suddenly, setting off one house against the other,allying herself to one European power to-day, with anotherto-morrow, her own person and her crown the pawn with which sheplayed. It was not a beautiful thing in a woman, but it was what awoman could do; and, denied other powers given to men--as to herfather--she resorted to astute but doubtful devices to advance herdiplomacy. Over all was self-infatuation, the bane of princes, thecurse of greatness, the source of wide injustice. It was not to beexpected, as Leicester had said, that Elizabeth, save for the whim ofthe moment, would turn aside to confer benefit upon Angele or to keepher in mind, unless constrained to do so for some political reason.
The girl had charmed the Queen, had, by saving her life, made Englandher long debtor; but Leicester had judged rightly in believing thatthe Queen might find the debt irksome; that her gratitude would becorroded by other destructive emotions. It was true that Angele hadsaved her life, but Michel had charmed her eye. He had proved himselfa more gallant fighter than any in her kingdom; and had done it, ashe had said, in her honor. So, as her admiration for Michel grew, herdebt to Angele became burdensome; and, despite her will, there stoleinto her mind the old petulance and smothered anger against beautyand love and marriage. She could ill bear that one near her personshould not be content to flourish in the light and warmth of her ownfavor, setting aside all other small affections. So it was that shehad sent Angele to her father and kept De la Foret in the palace.Perplexed, troubled by new developments, the birth of a son to MaryQueen of Scots, the demand of her Parliament that she should marry,the pressure of foreign policy which compelled her to open up againnegotiations for marriage with the Duke of Anjou--all these combinedto detach her from the interest she had suddenly felt in Angele. But,by instinct, she knew also that Leicester, through jealousy, hadincreased the complication; and, fretful under the long influence hehad had upon her, she steadily lessened intercourse with him. Theduel he fought with Lempriere on May Day came to her ears through theDuke's Daughter, and she seized upon it with sharp petulance. Firstshe ostentatiously gave housing and care to Lempriere, and went tovisit him; then, having refused Leicester audience, wrote to him.
"What is this I hear," she scrawled upon the paper--"that you haveforced a quarrel with the Lord of Rozel, and have well ny ta'en hislife! Is swording, then, your dearest vice that you must urge it on aharmless gentleman, and my visitor? Do you think you hold a charterof freedom for your selfwill? Have a care, Leicester, or, by God! youshall know another sword surer than your own."
The rage of Leicester on receiving this knew no bounds; for though hehad received from Elizabeth stormy letters before, none had had in itthe cold irony of this missive. The cause of it? Desperation seizedhim. With a mad disloyalty he read in every word of Elizabeth'sletter, Michel de la Foret, refugee. With madder fury he determinedto strike for the immediate ruin of De la Foret, and Angele withhim--for had she not thrice repulsed him as though he had been somevillage captain? After the meeting in the maze he had kept hispromise of visiting her "prison." By every art, and without avail, hehad through patient days sought to gain an influence over her; for hesaw that if he could but show the Queen that the girl was open to hisadvances, accepted his protection, her ruin would be certain--inanger Elizabeth would take revenge upon both refugees. But howevermuch he succeeded with Monsieur Aubert, he failed wholly with Angele.She repulsed him still with the most certain courtesy, with thegreatest outward composure; but she had to make her fight alone, forthe Queen forbade intercourse with Michel, and she must havedespaired but for the messages sent now and then by the Duke'sDaughter.
Through M. Aubert, to whom Leicester was diligently courteous, andwhom he sought daily, discussing piously the question of religion sodear to the old man's heart, he strove to foster in Angele's mindthe suspicion he had ventured at their meeting in the maze, that theQueen, through personal interest in Michel, was saving his life tokeep him in her household. So well did he work on the old man'sfeelings that when he offered his own protection to M. Aubert andAngele, whatever the issue with De la Foret might be, he was met withan almost tearful response of gratitude. It was the moment to conveya deep distrust of De la Foret into the mind of the old refugee, andit was subtly done.
Were it not better to leave the court, where only danger surroundedthem, and find safety on Leicester's own estate, where no man livingcould molest them? Were it not well to leave Michel de la Foret tohis fate, whatever it would be? Thrice within a week the Queen hadsent for De la Foret--what reason was there for that, unless theQueen had a secret personal interest in him? Did M. Aubert think itwas only a rare touch of humor which had turned De la Foret into apreacher, and set his fate upon a sermon to be preached before thecourt? He himself had long held high office, had been near to herMajesty, and he could speak with more knowledge than he might use--itgrieved him that Mademoiselle Aubert should be placed in so painful aposition.
Sometimes as the two talked Angele would join them; and then therewas a sudden silence, which made her flush with embarrassment,anxiety, or anger. In vain did she assume a cold composure, in vainschool herself to treat Leicester with a precise courtesy; in vainher heart protested the goodness of De la Foret and high uprightnessof the Queen; the persistent suggestions of the dark earl worked uponher mind in spite of all. Why had the Queen forbidden her to meetMichel, or write to him, or to receive letters from him? Why had theQueen, who had spoken such gratitude, deserted her. And now even theDuke's Daughter wrote to her no more, sent her no more messages. Shefelt herself a prisoner, and that the Queen had forgotten her debt.
She took to wandering to that part of the palace grounds where shecould see the windows of the tower her lover inhabited. Her oldhabit of cheerful talk deserted her, and she brooded. It was longbefore she heard of the duel between the seigneur and LordLeicester--the Duke's Daughter had kept this from her, lest sheshould be unduly troubled--and when, in anxiety, she went to thehouse where Lempriere had been quartered, he had gone, none couldtell her whither. Buonespoir was now in close confinement, by secretorders of Leicester, and not allowed to walk abroad, and thus, withno friend save her father, now so much under the influence of theearl, she was bitterly solitary. Bravely she fought the growing careand suspicion in her heart; but she was being tried beyond herstrength. Her father had urged her to make personal appeal to theQueen; and at times, despite her better judgment, she was on theverge of doing so. Yet what could she say? She could not go to theQueen of England and cry out, like a silly milkmaid, "You have takenmy lover--give him back to me!" What proof had she that the Queenwanted her lover? And if she spoke, the impertinence of thesuggestion might send back to the fierce Medici that same lover, tolose his head.
Leicester, who now was playing the game as though it were a hazardfor states and kingdoms, read the increasing trouble in her face; andwaited confidently for the moment when in desperation she would loseher self-control and go to the Queen.
But he did not reckon with the depth of the girl's nature and hertrue sense of life. Her brain told her that what she was tempted todo she should not; that her only way was to wait; to trust that theQueen of England was as much true woman as queen, and as much queenas true woman; and that the one was held in high equipoise by theother. Besides, Trinity Day would bring the end of it all, and thatwas not far off. She steeled her will to wait till then, no matterhow dark the sky might be.
As time went on, Leicester became impatient. He had not bee
n able toinduce M. Aubert to compel Angele to accept a quiet refuge atKenilworth; he saw that this plan would not work, and he deployedhis mind upon another. If he could but get Angele to seek De la Foretin his apartment in the palace, and then bring the matter toElizabeth's knowledge, with sure proof, De la Foret's doom would besealed. At great expense, however; for, in order to make the schemeeffective, Angele should visit De la Foret at night. This would meanthe ruin of the girl as well. Still that could be set right; because,once De la Foret was sent to the Medici, the girl's character couldbe cleared; and, if not, so much the surer would she come at last tohis protection. What he had professed in cold deliberation had becomein some sense a fact. She had roused in him an eager passion. Hemight even dare, when De la Foret was gone, to confess his own actionin the matter to the Queen, once she was again within his influence.She had forgiven him more than that in the past, when he had made hisown mad devotion to herself excuse for his rashness or misconduct.
He waited opportunity, he arranged all details carefully, he securedthe passive agents of his purpose; and when the right day came heacted.
About ten o'clock one night, a half-hour before the closing of thepalace gates, when no one could go in or go out save by permit of theLord Chamberlain, a footman from a surgeon of the palace came toAngele, bearing a note which read:
"_Your friend is very ill, and asks for you. Come hither alone; andnow, if you would come at all._"
Her father was confined to bed with some ailment of the hour, andasleep--it were no good to awaken him. Her mind was at once made up.There was no time to ask permission of the Queen. She knew thesurgeon's messengers by sight; this one was in the usual livery, andhis master's name was duly signed. In haste she made herself ready,and went forth into the night with the messenger, her heart beatinghard, a pitiful anxiety shaking her. Her steps were fleet betweenthe lodge and the palace. They were challenged nowhere, and thesurgeon's servant, entering a side-door of the palace, led herhastily through gloomy halls and passages, where they met no one,though once in a dark corridor some one brushed against her. Shewondered why there were no servants to show the way, why the footmancarried no torch nor candle, but haste and urgency seemed due excuse,and she thought only of Michel, and that she would soon seehim--dying, dead perhaps before she could touch his hand! At lastthey emerged into a lighter and larger hall-way, where her guidesuddenly paused, and said to Angele, motioning towards a door:
"Enter. He is there."
For a moment she stood still, scarce able to breathe, her heart hurther so. It seemed to her as if life itself was arrested. As theservant, without further words, turned and left her, she knocked,opened the door without awaiting a reply, and, stepping intosemidarkness, said, softly:
"Michel! Michel!"