indeed; and your face is no invention, but cometh honestly. No, no,
'tis no accident--God rest his soul, great Passy!"

"She died--my mother--when I was a little child. I can but just remember
her--so brightly quiet, so quick, so beautiful. In Rouen life had little
motion; but now and then came stir and turmoil, for war sent its message
into the old streets, and our captains and our peasants poured forth to
fight for the King. Once came the King and Queen--Francis and Mary--"

Elizabeth drew herself upright with an exclamation. "Ah, you have seen
her--Mary of Scots," she said sharply. "You have seen her?"

"As near as I might touch her with my hand, as near as is your high
Majesty. She spoke to me--my mother's father was in her train;--as yet
we had not become Huguenots, nor did we know her Majesty as now the world
knows. They came, the King and Queen--and that was the beginning."

She paused, and looked shyly at Elizabeth, as though she found it hard to
tell her story.

"And the beginning, it was--?" said Elizabeth, impatient and intent.

"We went to Court. The Queen called my mother into her train. But it
was in no wise for our good. At Court my mother pined away--and so she
died in durance."

"Wherefore in durance?"

"To what she saw she would not shut her eyes; to what she heard she would
not close her soul; what was required of her she would not do."