“I come from France, where I have been entreating—­and vainly entreating—­succor from yet another monkish king, the holy Lewis of that realm.  Eh, what is God about when He enthrones these whining pieties!  Were I a king, were I even a man, I would drive these smug English out of their foggy isle in three days’ space!  I would leave alive not one of these curs that dare yelp at me!  I would—­” She paused, anger veering into amusement.  “See how I enrage myself when I think of what your people have made me suffer,” the Queen said, and shrugged her shoulders.  “In effect, I skulked back in disguise to this detestable island, accompanied by Avenel de Giars and Hubert Fitz-Herveis.  To-night some half-dozen fellows—­robbers, thorough knaves, like all you English,—­attacked us on the common yonder and slew the men of our party.  While they were cutting de Giars’ throat I slipped away in the dark and tumbled through many ditches till I spied your light.  There you have my story.  Now get me an escort to Bristol.”

It was a long while before Messire Heleigh spoke.  Then, “These men,” he said—­“this de Giars and this Fitz-Herveis—­they gave their lives for yours, as I understand it,—­pro caris amicis.  And yet you do not grieve for them.”

“I shall regret de Giars,” the Queen acknowledged, “for he made excellent songs.  But Fitz-Herveis?—­foh! the man had a face like a horse.”  Again her mood changed.  “Many persons have died for me, my friend.  At first I wept for them, but now I am dry of tears.”

He shook his head.  “Cato very wisely says, ’If thou hast need of help, ask it of thy friends.’  But the sweet friend that I remember was a clean eyed girl, joyous and exceedingly beautiful.  Now you appear to me one of those ladies of remoter times—­Faustina, or Jael, or Artemis, the King’s wife of Tauris,—­they that slew men, laughing.  I am somewhat afraid of you, madame.”

She was angry at first; then her face softened.  “You English!” she said, only half mirthful.  “Eh, my God! you remember me when I was a high hearted young sorceress.  Now the powers of the Apsarasas have departed from me, and time has thrust that Alianora, who was once the Unattainable Princess, chin deep in misery.  Yet even now I am your Queen, messire, and it is not yours to pass judgment upon me.”  “I do not judge you,” he returned.  “Rather I cry with him of old, Omnia incerta ratione! and I cry with Salomon that he who meddles with the strife of another man is like to him that takes a hound by the ears.  Yet listen, madame and Queen.  I cannot afford you an escort to Bristol.  This house, of which I am in temporary charge, is Longaville, my brother’s manor.  Lord Brudenel, as you doubtless know, is of the barons’ party and—­scant cause for grief!—­is with Leicester at this moment.  I can trust none of my brother’s people, for I believe them to be of much the same opinion as those Londoners who not long ago stoned you and would have sunk your barge in Thames River.  Oh, let us not blink the fact that you are not overbeloved in England.  So an escort is out of the question.  Yet I, madame, if you so elect, will see you safe to Bristol.”