“Over fast, over fast, maiden.  Who told thee that I had consented?”

“Your Majesty’s own countenance,” replied Cicely readily.  “I see pity in it, and the recollection that all posterity for evermore will speak of the clemency of Elizabeth as the crown of all her glories!”

“Child, child,” said the Queen, really moved, “Heaven knows that I would gladly practise clemency if my people would suffer it, but they fear for my life, and still more for themselves, were I removed, nor can I blame them.”

“Your Majesty, I know that.  But my mother would be dead to the world, leaving her rights solemnly made over to her son.  None would know where to find her, and she would leave in your hands, and those of the Parliament, a resignation of all her claims.”

“And would she do this?  Am I to take it on thy word, girl?”

“Your Majesty knows this ring, sent to her at Lochleven,” said Cicely, holding it up.  “It is the pledge that she binds herself to these conditions.  Oh! let me but bear them to her, and you shall have them signed and sealed, and your Majesty will know the sweet bliss of pardoning.  May I carry the tidings to her?  I can go with this gentleman as Cis Talbot returning to her service.”

Elizabeth bent her head as though assenting thoughtfully.

“How shall I thank you, gracious Queen?” cried Cicely, joining hands in a transport, but Elizabeth sharply cut her short.

“What means the wench?  I have promised nothing.  I have only said I will look into this strange story of thine, and consider this proposal—­that is, if thy mother, as thou callest her, truly intend it—­ay, and will keep to it.”

“That is all I could ask of your Majesty,” said Cicely.  “The next messenger after my return shall carry her full consent to these conditions, and there will I abide your pleasure until the time comes for her to be conducted to her convent, if not to see your face, which would be best of all.  O madam, what thanks will be worthy of such a grace?”

“Wait to see whether it is a grace, little cousin,” said Elizabeth, but with a kiss to the young round cheek, and a friendliness of tone that surprised all.  “Messieurs,” she added to the ambassadors, “you came, if I mistake not, to bring me this young demoiselle.”

“Who has, I hope, pleaded more effectually than I,” returned Bellievre.

“I have made no promises, sir,” said the Queen, drawing herself up proudly.

“Still your Majesty forbids us not to hope,” said Chateauneuf.

Wherewith they found themselves dismissed.  There was a great increase of genuine respect in the manner in which Bellievre handed the young lady from the Queen’s chamber through the gallery and hall, and finally to the boat.  No one spoke, for there were many standing around, but Cicely could read in a glance that passed between the Frenchmen that they were astonished at her success.  Her own brain was in a whirl, her heart beating high; she could hardly realise what had passed, but when again placed in the barge the first words she heard were from Bellievre.