Angele had come to know, as others in like case have ever done, how
wretched indeed is that poor man that hangs on princes' favours. She had
saved the Queen's life upon May Day, and on the evening of that day the
Queen had sent for her, had made such high and tender acknowledgment of
her debt as would seem to justify for her perpetual honour. And what
Elizabeth said she meant; but in a life set in forests of complications
and opposing interests the political overlapped the personal in her
nature. Thus it was that she had kept the princes of the world dangling,
advancing towards marriage with them, retreating suddenly, setting off
one house against the other, allying herself to one European power
to-day, with another to-morrow, her own person and her crown the pawn
with which she played. It was not a beautiful thing in a woman, but it
was what a woman could do; and, denied other powers given to men--as to
her father--she resorted to astute but doubtful devices to advance her
diplomacy. Over all was self-infatuation, the bane of princes, the curse
of greatness, the source of wide injustice. It was not to be expected,
as Leicester had said, that Elizabeth, save for the whim of the moment,
would turn aside to confer benefit upon Angele or to keep her in mind,
unless constrained to do so for some political reason.

The girl had charmed the Queen, had, by saving her life, made England
her long debtor; but Leicester had judged rightly in believing that the
Queen might find the debt irksome; that her gratitude would be corroded
by other destructive emotions. It was true that Angele had saved her
life, but Michel had charmed her eye. He had proved himself a more
gallant fighter than any in her kingdom; and had done it, as he had said,
in her honour. So, as her admiration for Michel grew, her debt to Angele
became burdensome; and, despite her will, there stole into her mind the
old petulance and smothered anger against beauty and love and marriage.
She could ill bear that one near her person should not be content to