rn the scale one way or another. What follows,
beggar of Rozel?"

"That Mademoiselle Aubert and her father may live without let or
hindrance in Jersey."

"That you may eat sour grapes ad eternam? Next?"

"That Buonespoir be pardoned all offences and let live in Jersey on
pledge that he sin no more, not even to raid St. Ouen's cellars of the
muscadella reserved for your generous Majesty."

There was such humour in Lempriere's look as he spoke of the muscadella
that the Queen questioned him closely upon Buonespoir's raid; and so
infectious was his mirth, as he told the tale, that Elizabeth, though
she stamped her foot in assumed impatience, smiled also.

"You shall have your Buonespoir, Seigneur," she said; "but for his
future you shall answer as well as he."

"For what he does in Jersey Isle, your commiserate Majesty?"

"For crime elsewhere, if he be caught, he shall march to Tyburn,
friend," she answered. Then she hurriedly added: "Straightway go and
bring Mademoiselle and her father hither. Orders are given for their
disposal. And to-morrow at this hour you shall wait upon me in their
company. I thank you for your services as butler this day, Monsieur of
Rozel. You do your office rarely."

As the Seigneur left Elizabeth's apartments, he met the Earl of
Leicester hurrying thither, preceded by the Queen's messenger. Leicester
stopped and said, with a slow malicious smile: "Farming is good,
then--you have fine crops this year on your holding?"

The point escaped Lempriere at first, for the favourite's look was all
innocence, and he replied: "You are mistook, my lord. You will remember
I was in the presence-chamber an hour ago, my lord. I am Lempriere,
Seigneur of Rozel, butler to her Majesty."

"But are you, then? I thought you were a farmer and raised cabbages."
Smiling, Leicester passed on.

For a moment the Seigneur stood pondering the Earl's words and angrily
wondering at his obtuseness. Then suddenly he knew he had been mocked,
and he turned and ran after his enemy; but Leicester had vanished into
the Queen's apartments.

The Queen's fool was standing near, seemingly engaged in the light
occupation of catching imaginary flies, buzzing with his motions. As
Leicester disappeared he looked from under his arm at Lempriere. "If a
bird will not stop for the salt to its tail, then the salt is damned,
Nuncio; and you must cry David! and get thee to the quarry."

Lempriere stared at him swelling with rage; but