w her loveworthy once, and now most pitiful. He had
nothing to say; she went on breathless, gathering speed.

'He has spurned me whom he chose. He has left me on my wedding day. I
have never seen him alone--do you heed me? never, never once. Ah, now,
he has chosen for his minion: let her save him if she can. What have I
to do with him? I am the daughter of a king; and what is he to me, who
treats me so? If I am not to be mother of England, I am still daughter
of Navarre. Let him die, let them kill him: what else can serve me now?'
She fell back, and lay staring up at him. In every word she said there
was sickening justice: what could Milo do? In his private mind he
confirmed a suspicion--being still loyal to his King--that one and the
same thing may be at one and the same time all black and all white. He
did his best to put this strange case.

'Madame,' he said, 'I cannot excuse our lord the King, nor will I; but I
can defend that noble lady whose only faults are her beauty and strong
heart.' Mentioning Jehane's beauty, he saw the Queen look quickly at
him, her first intelligent look. 'Yes, Madame, her beauty, and the love
she has been taught to give our lord. The King married her,
uncanonically, it is true; but who was she to hold up church law before
his face? Well, then she, by her own pure act, caused herself to be put
away by the King, abjuring thus his kingly seat. Hey, but it is so, that
by her own prayers, her proper pleading, her proper tears, she worked
against her proper honour, and against the child in her womb. What more
could she do? What more could any wife, any mother, than that? Ah, say
that you hate her without stint, would you have her die? Why, no! for
what pain can be worse than to live as she lives? My lady, she prevailed
against the King; but she could not prevail against her own holy nature
working upon the King's great heart. No! When the King found out that
she was to be mother of his child, he loved her so well that, though he
must respect her prayers, he must needs respect her person also. The
King thought within himself, "I have promised Madame de Saint-Pol that
I will never strive with her in love; and I will not. Now must I promise
Almighty God that, in her life, I will not strive so at all." Alas,
Madame, and alas! Here the King was too strong for the girl; here her
own nobility rose up against her. Pity her, not blame her; and for the
King--I dare to say it--find pity as well as blame. A