Pretending that she did not understand him, she replied that he had not, to her knowledge, shown her a single one among her ladies.

“That is true, madam,” said Elisor, “but what did I show you when I helped you off your horse?”

“Nothing,” said the Queen, “except a mirror on your breast.”

“And what did you see in the mirror?” said Elisor.

“I saw nothing but myself,” replied the Queen.

“Then, madam,” said Elisor, “I have kept faith with you and obeyed your command.  There is not, nor ever will there be, another image in my heart save that which you saw upon my breast.  Her alone will I love, reverence and worship, not as a woman merely, but as my very God on earth, in whose hands I place my life or my death, entreating her withal that the deep and perfect affection, which was my life whilst it remained concealed, may not prove my death now that it is discovered.  And though I be not worthy that you should look on me or accept me for your lover, at least suffer me to live, as hitherto, in the happy consciousness that my heart has chosen so perfect and so worthy an object for its love, wherefrom I can have no other satisfaction than the knowledge that my love is deep and perfect, seeing that I must be content to love without hope of return.  And if, now knowing this great love of mine, you should not be pleased to favour me more than heretofore, at least do not deprive me of life, which for me consists wholly in the delight of seeing you as usual.  I now have from you nought but what my utmost need requires, and should I have less, you will have a servant the less, for you will lose the best and most devoted that you have ever had or could ever look to have.”

The Queen—­whether to show herself other than she really was, or to thoroughly try the love he bore her, or because she loved another whom she would not cast off, or because she wished to hold him in reserve to put him in the place of her actual lover should the latter give her any offence—­said to him, with a countenance that showed neither anger nor content—­“Elisor, I will not feign ignorance of the potency of love, and say aught to you concerning your foolishness in aiming at so high and hard a thing as the love of me; for I know that man’s heart is so little under his own control, that he cannot love or hate at will.  But, since you have concealed your feelings so well, I would fain know how long it is since you first entertained them.”

Elisor, gazing at her beauteous face and hearing her thus inquire concerning his sickness, hoped that she might be willing to afford him a remedy.  But at the same time, observing the grave and staid expression of her countenance, he became afraid, feeling himself to be in the presence of a judge whose sentence, he suspected, would be against him.  Nevertheless he swore to her that this love had taken root in his heart in the days of his earliest youth, though it was only during the past seven years that it had caused him pain,—­and yet, in truth, not pain, but so pleasing a sickness that its cure would be his death.