aid at bottom, but
not at all ill-pleased; and she looked downward.

The King said: "Never before were we two alone, madame. Fate is very
gracious to me this morning."

"Fate," the lady considered, "has never denied much to the Hammer of the
Scots."

"She has denied me nothing," he sadly said, "save the one thing that
makes this business of living seem a rational proceeding. Fame and power
and wealth fate has accorded me, no doubt, but never the common joys of
life. And, look you, my Princess, I am of aging person now. During some
thirty years I have ruled England according to my interpretation of
God's will as it was anciently made manifest by the holy Evangelists;
and during that period I have ruled England not without odd by-ends of
commendation: yet behold, to-day I forget the world-applauded, excellent
King Edward, and remember only Edward Plantagenet--hot-blooded and
desirous man!--of whom that much-commended king has made a prisoner all
these years."

"It is the duty of exalted persons," Blanch unsteadily said, "to put
aside such private inclinations as their breasts may harbor--"

He said, "I have done what I might for the happiness of every Englishman
within my realm saving only Edward Plantagenet; and now I think his turn
to be at hand." Then the man kept silence; and his hot appraisal daunted
her.

"Lord," she presently faltered, "lord, you know that we are already
betrothed, and, in sober verity, Love cannot extend his laws between
husband and wife, since the gifts of love are voluntary, and husband and
wife are but the slaves of duty--"

"Troubadourish nonsense!" Sire Edward said; "yet it is true that the
gifts of love are voluntary. And therefore--Ha, most beautiful, what
have you and I to do with all this chaffering over Guienne?" The two
stood very close to each other now. Blanch said, "It is a high
matter--" Then on a sudden the full-veined girl was aglow. "It is a
trivial matter." He took her in his arms, since already her cheeks
flared in scarlet anticipation of the event.

Thus holding her, he wooed the girl tempestuously. Here, indeed, was
Sieur Hercules enslaved, burned by a fiercer fire than that of Nessus,
and the huge bulk of the unconquerable visibly shaken by his adoration.
In a disordered tapestry of verbiage, aflap in winds of passion, she
presently beheld herself prefigured by Balkis, the Judean's lure, and by
that Princess of Cyprus who reigned in Aristotle's time, and by
Nicole