eetness past compare,
Beauty's self to thee hath fled,
Lilies White and Roses Red:
Lover's service bows its head,
Awed by witchery so fair,
Lilies White and Roses Red,
Gracious sweetness past compare."

"Are they your own verses?"

"No, I wish they were. I only think them."

Their eyes met for a moment, then she looked aside and there was
silence. Her thoughts, or that brief glance--Apollo was a god, good to
look upon--had so warmed her cheeks that the refrain of the Triolet was
almost justified. The lines of anxious care were smoothed from the
forehead, and the half-smile of the new-drawn Cupid's bow was a little
tremulous. A sudden determination moved La Mothe. Never had he seen
her so gracious, so womanly, so completely the one sweet woman in all
the world. Pushing the lute aside, he leaned forward.

"Mademoiselle," he began earnestly, "do you remember ten days ago I
said there was a question I would dare to ask you when you knew me
better?"

"I remember," she said, turning a little from him that the light might
not fall upon her face to betray her. She said she remembered, but the
truth was that in the tumult of her thoughts the recollection was
vague. "Yes, I think I know you better."

"It is a very bold question, and one which might well offend. And yet
you know I would not willingly offend you?"

"Yes, I am sure of that." The rustling of the lawn and laces on her
breast was a little more tempestuous, but the voice was very level,
very quiet. As to Stephen La Mothe, he felt that earth and sun and
stars had disappeared and they two alone were left out of all the world.

"So bold, so presumptuous," he went on, "that it is hard to find words
at all. But you forgive me in advance?"

At that she smiled a little. She did not think there would be much
need for pardon. Was there any question Apollo--Stephen La Mothe, that
is--might not ask? She knew now why these ten days had been the
happiest of her life.

"Yes, Monsieur La Mothe, you are forgiven beforehand."

"Then--is there any plot in Amboise against the King? From you a
simple 'no' is enough. I ask no proof, a simple word, nothing more."

Unconsciously he had forced a pleading into his voice, an urging, as if
it was not so much the truth he sought as a denial at all costs; but as
she turned in her chair, rising as she turned so that she looked down
upon him, he broke off. It would have taken a much bolder man than