his side, and his garb was still that of a gentleman, not of a Huguenot
minister such as Elizabeth in her grim humour, and to satisfy her bond
with France, would make of him this day.

The brown of his face had paled in the weeks spent in the palace and in
waiting for this hour; anxiety had toned the ruddy vigour of his bearing;
but his figure was the figure of a soldier, and his hand that of a strong
man. He shook a little as he bowed to her Majesty, but that passed, and
when at last his eye met that of the Duke's Daughter he grew steady; for
she gave him as plainly as though her tongue spoke, a message from
Angele. Angele herself he did not see--she was kneeling in an obscure
corner, her father's hand in hers, all the passion of her life pouring
out in prayer.

De la Foret drew himself up with an iron will. No nobler figure of a man
ever essayed to preach the Word, and so Elizabeth thought; and she
repented of the bitter humour which had set this trial as his chance of
life in England and his freedom from the hand of Catherine. The man
bulked larger in her eyes than he had ever done, and she struggled with
herself to keep the vow she had made to the Duke's Daughter the night
that Angele had been found in De la Foret's rooms. He had been the
immediate cause, fated or accidental, of the destined breach between
Leicester and herself; he had played a significant part in her own life.
Glancing at her courtiers, she saw that none might compare with him, the
form and being of calm boldness and courage. She sighed she knew scarce
why.

When De la Foret first opened his mouth and essayed to call the
worshippers to prayer, no words came forth--only a dry whisper. Some
ladies simpered, and more than one courtier laughed silently. Michel