"No, your Majesty."
"Where did you go?"
"Am I a prisoner in Whitehall that I may not come and go at will?" she
asked indignantly, knowing well the maxim of battle that the best way to
meet a charge is by a countercharge. "If so, I pray leave to go home to
my father, where I shall not be spied upon and suspected of evil if I but
go abroad for an hour."
Her grief had changed to indignation, and she turned her face from the
king, drying the supposed tears and exhibiting her temper in irresistible
pantomime. The king was but a man, so of course Frances's tears and her
just anger routed him. A brave man may stand against powder and steel,
but he must flee before fire and flood.
Immediately the king became apologetic: "I do not suspect you of evil,
but of thoughtlessness, my beautiful one," he said, trying to take her
hand, but failing. "Nor have I spied upon you. I heard that you had gone
to the Old Swan to see Hamilton, whom it is said you love."
Pantomime to show great grief and a deep sense of cruel injury, but the
tears ceased to flow because of the fact that she was past tears now.
"I'll leave Whitehall this day!" she said, shaking her head dolefully. "I
am not strong enough to bear your Majesty's unjust frown. I have tried to
do right, tried to please you and the duchess--everybody, and this is my
reward! I know little of Master Hamilton, having seen him only a few
times in all my life.
Pages:
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191