"Sweet, I did what I could. Leicester filled her ears with poison
every day, mixed up your business and great affairs with France,
sought to convey that you both were not what you are; until at last I
countermarched him." She laughed merrily. "Ay, I can laugh now, but it
was all hanging by a thread, when my leech sent his letter that brought
you to the palace. It had grieved me that I might not seek you, or write
to you in all those sad days; but the only way to save you was by keeping
the Queen's command; for she had known of Leicester's visits to you, of
your meeting in the maze, and she was set upon it that alone, all alone,
you should be tried to the last vestige of your strength. If you had
failed--"

"If I had failed--" Angele closed her eyes and shuddered. "I had not
cared for myself, but Michel--" "If you had failed, there had been no
need to grieve for Michel. He then had not grieved for thee. But see,
the wind blows fair, and in my heart I have no fear of the end. You
shall go hence in peace. This morning the Queen was happier than I have
seen her these many years: a light was in her eye brighter than showeth
to the Court. She talked of this place, recalled the hours spent here,
spoke even softly of Leicester. And that gives me warrant for the
future. She has relief in his banishment, and only recalls older and
happier days when, if her cares were no greater, they were borne by the
buoyancy of girlhood and youth. Of days spent here she talked until mine
own eyes went blind. She said it was a place for lovers, and if she knew
any two lovers who were true lovers, and had been long parted, she would
send them here."

"There be two true lovers, and they have been long parted," murmured
Angele.