“We named her Cicely, so please your Grace,” said Susan, unable to help blushing.

“Cecile, a fair name.  Ah! so the poor Antoine called her.  I see my Bijou has found a friend in you, Mistress Cecile—­as the girl’s idle hands were only too happy to caress the pretty little shivering Italian greyhound rather than to be busy with a needle.  “Do you ever hear of that young Babington, your playfellow?” she added.

“No, madam,” said Cis, looking up, “he hath never been here!”

“I thought not,” said Queen Mary, sighing.  “Take heed to manifest no pity for me, maiden, if you should ever chance to be inspired with it for a poor worn-out old prisoner.  It is the sure sentence of misfortune and banishment.”

“In his sex, madam,” here put in Marie de Courcelles.  “If it were so in ours, woe to some of us.”

“That is true, my dear friends,” said Mary, her eyes glistening with dew.  “It is the women who are the most fearless, the most faithful, and whom the saints therefore shield.”

“Alas, there are some who are faithful but who are not shielded!”

It was merely a soft low murmur, but the tender-hearted Queen had caught it, and rising impulsively, crossed the room and gathered Mary Seaton’s hands into hers, no longer the queen but the loving friend of equal years, soothing her in a low fond voice, and presently sending her to the inner chamber to compose herself.  Then as the Queen returned slowly to her seat it would be seen how lame she was from rheumatism.  Mrs. Kennedy hurried to assist her, with a nurse-like word of remonstrance, to which she replied with a bewitching look of sweetness that she could not but forget her aches and pains when she saw her dear Mary Seaton in trouble.

Most politely she then asked whether her visitors would object to listening to the conclusion of her day’s portion of reading.  There was no refusing, of course, though, as Susan glanced at the reader and knew him to be strongly suspected of being in Holy Orders conferred abroad, she had her fears for her child’s Protestant principles.  The book, however, proved to be a translation of St. Austin on the Psalms, and, of course, she could detect nothing that she disapproved, even if Cis had not been far too much absorbed by the little dog and its mistress to have any comprehending ears for theology.  Queen Mary confidentially observed as much to her after the reading, having, no doubt, detected her uneasy glance.

“You need not fear for your child, madam,” she said; “St. Augustine is respected by your own Queen and her Bishops.  At the readings with which my good Mr. Belton favours me, I take care to have nothing you Protestants dispute when I know it.”  She added, smiling, “Heaven knows that I have endeavoured to understand your faith, and many a minister has argued with me.  I have done my best to comprehend them, but they agreed in nothing but in their abuse of the Pope.  At least so it seemed to my poor weak mind.  But you are satisfied, madam, I see it in your calm eyes and gentle voice.  If I see much of you, I shall learn to think well of your religion.”