“Impossible!” exclaimed Gardiner and De Noailles.
“You are mistaken,” rejoined Mary, sternly. “You shall hear him avow his perfidy with his own lips.”
“When I do hear it,” replied De Noailles, looking steadily at Courtenay, “I will believe it. But I cannot think him capable of such madness.”
“Nor I,” said Gardiner, glancing significantly from beneath his bent brows.
Elizabeth, who on the commencement of the queen’s address had turned very pale, could with difficulty maintain her composure. Her agitation did not escape the notice of Mary, whose jealousy was increased by the sight.
“What if I tell you,” she continued, “that this false earl has transferred his affections to our sister?”
“Your highness!” exclaimed Elizabeth.
“Peace!” cried the queen, fiercely. “And she, well knowing his engagement to ourself, has dared to encourage his suit.”
“Whoever told you majesty this, lied in his throat,” cried Courtenay. “I own myself guilty, but the Princess Elizabeth is no partner to my folly.”
“You do well to shield her, my lord,” retorted Mary. “But you cannot deceive me. She is equally culpable.”
“Nay, more so, if it comes to this,” interposed Elizabeth, whose spirit, which was quite equal to her sister’s, was aroused. “If I had repressed my admiration for the Earl of Devonshire, he would have made no advances to me. I am the most to blame in this matter.”
“Not so,” replied Courtenay. “Let my folly and presumption be visited on my own head. I pray your highness to pass sentence on me at once. But do not let the princess suffer for my fault.”
“So, so!” exclaimed Mary, with a bitter laugh, “I have brought you to your confessions at last. If I had before doubted your love for each other, your present conduct would have convinced me of it. You shall have your request, my lord,” she added, turning to Courtenay. “I will pass sentence upon you.”
“Hold, madam,” cried Gardiner. “Before the sentence is passed and irrevocable, reflect—if only for one moment. You are a great queen, and the daughter of a great king. But the rashness of one moment may annihilate all your future peace, destroy the hopes of your people, and the prosperity of your reign. The conduct of the Earl of Devonshire is unpardonable, I allow. But for your own sake, for the sake of your kingdom—not for his—I beseech you to overlook it. That he loves you, I am assured.”
“Let him declare as much,” said Renard.
“Here me, then,” replied Courtenay, throwing himself at the queen’s feet. “I bitterly repent my rashness; and though I can never hope to be restored to the place I once held in your majesty’s affections, I shall never cease to reproach myself, never cease to love you.”
Mary was visibly moved.
“If I thought you sincere?” she said.
“I will answer for his sincerity,” said Gardiner.
“And I,” added De Noailles. “She relents,” he continued in a whisper to Courtenay. “Improve the advantage you have gained.”
“Grant me an instant’s private audience with your majesty,” implored Courtenay; “and I feel certain I can remove all your doubts.”
“No, my lord,” rejoined Mary. “As our rupture has been public, our reconciliation (if it takes place) shall be public also.”
“It must never take place,” remarked Renard, in an undertone.
“Peace, sir,” said the queen, aloud. “As far as our government is concerned, we are content to follow your counsel. But in matters of the heart we shall follow its dictates alone.”
“Your majesty is in the right,” observed Gardiner.
“Declare, my lord,” pursued Mary, addressing Courtenay, “in the presence of these gentlemen, in that of our sister—rival we ought to say—that you have deceived her, and, though your conduct may have misled her, have never swerved from your devotion to ourself.”
While the queen pronounced these words, Renard’s keen glance wandered from Courtenay to Elizabeth. The latter was violently agitated, and seemed to await the earl’s answer as if her fate hung upon it.
“Do you assert this, my lord?” demanded Mary.
“Hesitate, and you are lost, and so is the princess,” whispered De Noailles.
Before Courtenay could reply, Elizabeth fainted and would have fallen, if Renard had not flown to her assistance.