before? To what day or hour in her past did he belong? What was there
in his smooth, smiling, malicious face that made her blood run cold? As
she watched him, he turned his head. She followed his eyes. The horse
which Mary Queen of Scots had sent with the message of the birth of her
son was being led to the Queen by the dark browed, pale-faced churl who
had brought it from Scotland. She saw a sharp dark look pass between the
two.

Suddenly her sight swam, she swayed and would have fainted, but
resolution steadied her, and a low exclamation broke from her lips.
Now she knew!

The face that had eluded her was at last in the grasp of horrified
memory. It was the face of one who many years ago was known to have
poisoned the Due de Chambly by anointing the pommel of his saddle with a
delicate poison which the rider would touch, and touching would, perhaps,
carry to his nostrils or mouth as he rode, and die upon the instant. She
herself had seen the Due de Chambly fall; had seen this man fly from
Paris for his life; and had thereafter known of his return to favour at
the court of Mary and Francis, for nothing could be proved against him.
The memory flashed like lightning through her brain. She moved swiftly
forward despite the detaining hand of the Duke's Daughter. The Queen was
already mounted, her hand already upon the pommel of the saddle.

Elizabeth noted the look of anguished anxiety in Angele's eyes, her
face like that of one who had seen souls in purgatory; and some swift
instinct, born of years upon years of peril in old days when her life was
no boon to her enemies, made her lean towards the girl, whose quick
whispered words were to her as loud as thunder. She was, however,
composed and still. Not a tremor passed through her.