years I have loved you, but as one loves a star that one can
never reach, a madonna to whom one can only pray; for seven years I have
followed you everywhere without you ever having paid attention to me,
without my saying a word or making a gesture to attract your notice. I
was on the knight of Mevillon's galley when you crossed to Scotland; I
was among the regent's soldiers when you beat Huntly; I was in the escort
which accompanied you when you went to see the sick king at Glasgow; I
reached Edinburgh an hour after you had left it for Lochleven; and then
it seemed to me that my mission was revealed to me for the first time,
and that this love for which till then, I had reproached myself as a
crime, was on the contrary a favour from God. I learned that the lords
were assembled at Dumbarton: I flew thither. I pledged my name, I
pledged my honour, I pledged my life; and I obtained from them, thanks to
the facility I had for coming into this fortress, the happiness of
bringing you the paper they have just signed. Now, madam, forget all I
have told you, except the assurance of my devotion and respect: forget
that I am near you; I am used to not being seen: only, if you have need
of my life, make a sign; for seven years my life has been yours."

"Alas!" replied Mary, "I was complaining this morning of no longer being
loved, and I ought to complain, on the contrary, that I am still loved;
for the love that I inspire is fatal and mortal. Look back, Douglas, and
count the tombs that, young as I am, I have already left on my
path--Francis II, Chatelard, Rizzio, Darnley.... Oh to attach one's self
to my fortunes more than love is needed now heroism and devotion are
requisite so much the more that, as you have said, Douglas, it is love
without any possible reward. Do you understand?"

"Oh, madam, madam," answered Douglas, "is it not reward beyond my deserts
to see you daily, to cherish the hope that liberty will be restored to
you through me, and to have at least, if I do not give it you, the
certainty of dying in your sight?"

"Poor young man!" murmured Mary, her eyes raised to heaven, as if she
were reading there beforehand the fate awaiting her new defender.

"Happy Douglas, on the contrary," cried George, seizing the queen's hand
and kissing it with perhaps still more respect than love, "happy Douglas!
for in obtaining a sigh from your Majesty he has already obtained more
than he hoped."

"And upon what have you de