Leicester, however, only saw the sword at the side of the refugee and the
gold-bound book under his arm as he came forth, and in a rage he left the
palace and gloomily walked under the trees, denying himself to every one.

To seize De la Foret, and send him to the Medici, and then rely on
Elizabeth's favour for his pardon, as he had done in the past? That
might do, but the risk to England was too great. It would be like the
Queen, if her temper was up, to demand from the Medici the return of De
la Foret, and war might ensue. Two women, with two nations behind them,
were not to be played lightly against each other, trusting to their
common sense and humour.

As he walked among the trees, brooding with averted eyes, he was suddenly
faced by the Seigneur of Rozel, who also was shaken from his discretion
and the best interests of the two fugitives he was bound to protect, by a
late offence against his own dignity. A seed of rancour had been sown in
his mind which had grown to a great size and must presently burst into a
dark flower of vengeance. He, Lempriere of Rozel, with three dovecotes,
the perquage, and the office of butler to the Queen, to be called a
"farmer," to be sneered at--it was not in the blood of man, not in the
towering vanity of a Lempriere, to endure it at any price computable to
mortal mind.

Thus there were in England on that day two fools (there are as many now),
and one said:

"My Lord Leicester, I crave a word with you."

"Crave on, good fellow," responded Leicester with a look of boredom,