eyton, burst into
tears. Indeed, she had just been cruelly wounded: till then no man had
come near her who had not paid homage either to the majesty of her rank
or to the beauty of her countenance. But precisely he, on whom she had
reckoned, without knowing why, with instinctive hopes, insulted her at
one and the same time in her double pride of queen and woman: thus she
remained shut up till evening.

At dinner-time, just as Lady Lochleven had informed Mary, she ascended
to the queen's apartment, in her dress of honour, and preceding four
servants who were carrying the several dishes composing the prisoner's
repast, and who, in their turn, were followed by the old castle steward,
having, as on days of great ceremony, his gold chain round his neck
and his ivory stick in his hand. The servants' placed the dishes on the
table, and waited in silence for the moment when it should please the
queen to come out of her room; but at this moment the door opened, and
in place of the queen Mary Seyton appeared.

"Madam," said she on entering, "her grace was indisposed during the day,
and will take nothing this evening; it will be useless, then, for you to
wait longer."

"Permit me to hope," replied Lady Lochleven, "that she will change her
decision; in any case, see me perform my office."

At these words, a servant handed Lady Lochleven bread and salt on a
silver salver, while the old steward, who, in the absence of William
Douglas, fulfilled the duties of carver, served to her on a plate of the
same metal a morsel from each of the dishes that had been brought; then,
this transaction ended.

"So the queen will not appear to-day?" Lady Lochleven inquired.

"It is her Majesty's resolve," replied Mary Seyton.

"Our presence is then needless," said the old lady; "but in any case the
table is served, and if her grace should have need of anything else, she
would have but to name it."

With these words, Lady Lochleven, with the same stiffness and the same
dignity with which she had come, withdrew, followed by her four servants
and her steward.

As Lady Lochleven had foreseen, the queen, yielding to the entreaties of
Mary Seyton, came out of her room at last, towards eight o'clock in the
evening, sat down to table, and, served by the only maid of honour left
her, ate a little; then, getting up, she went to the window.

It was one of those magnificent summer evenings on which the whole of
nature seems making holiday: the sky was