hat
she might have good success, and bring safety and deliverance to the
good and persecuted Queen for whom she had attempted so much.

"Sir," said Chateauneuf, as he stood beside Richard, waiting till the
girl's preparations were over, "if there could have been any doubts of
the royal lineage of your charge, her demeanour to-day would have
disproved them. She stood there speaking as an equal, all undaunted
before that Queen before whom all tremble, save when they can cajole
her."

"She stood there in the strength of truth and innocence," said Richard.

Whereat the Frenchman again looked perplexed at these incomprehensible
English.

Cicely presently appeared. It was wonderful to see how that one effort
had given her dignity and womanhood. She thanked the two ambassadors
for the countenance they had given to her, and begged them to continue
their exertions in her mother's cause. "And," she added, "I believe my
mother has already requested of you to keep this matter a secret."

They bowed, and she added, "You perceive, gentlemen, that the very
conditions I have offered involve secrecy both as to my mother's future
abode and my existence. Therefore, I trust that you will not consider
it inconsistent with your duty to the King of France to send no word of
this."

Again they assured her of their secrecy, and the promise was so far
kept that the story was reserved for the private ear of Henri III. on
Bellievre's return, and never put into the despatches.

Two days later, Cicely enjoyed some of the happiest hours of her life.
She stood by the bed where her mother was lying, and was greeted with
the cry, "My child, my child! I thought I never should see thee more.
Domine, nunc dimittis!"

"Nay, dearest mother, but I trust she will show mercy. I bring you
conditions."

Mary laid her head on her daughter's shoulder and listened. It might
be that she had too much experience of Elizabeth's vacillations to
entertain much hope of her being allowed to retire beyond her grasp
into a foreign convent, and she declared that she could not endure that
her beloved, devoted child should wear away her life under Elizabeth's
jealous eye, but Cis put this aside, saying with a smile, "I think she
will not be hard with me. She will be no worse than my Lady Countess,
and I shall have a secret of joy within me in thinking of you resting
among the good nuns."

And Mary caught hope from the anticipations she would not damp, and
g