you now gird either loin for an unlovely traffic.
Old Legion must be fought with fire. True that the age is sick, true
that we may not cure, we can but salve the hurt--" His hand had torn
open his sombre gown, and the man's bared breast shone in the
sunlight, and on his breast heaved sleek and glittering beads of
sweat. Twice he cried the Queen's name. In a while he said: "I bid you
weave incessantly such snares of brain and body as may lure King
Richard to be swayed by you, until against his will you daily guide
this shallow-hearted fool to some commendable action. I bid you live
as other folk do hereabouts. Coax! beg! cheat! wheedle! lie!" he
barked like a teased dog, "and play the prostitute for him that wears
my crown, till you achieve in part the task which is denied me. This
doom I dare adjudge and to pronounce, because we are royal and God's
satraps, you and I."

She answered with a tiny, wordless sound. But presently, "I take my
doom," the Queen proudly said. "I shall be lonely now, my only friend,
and yet--it does not matter," the Queen said, with a little shiver.
"No, nothing will ever greatly matter now, I think, now that I may not
ever see you any more, my dearest."

Her eyes had filled with tears; she was unhappy, and, as always, this
knowledge roused in Maudelain a sort of frenzied pity and a hatred,
quite illogical, of all other things existent. She was unhappy, that
only he comprehended: and for her to be made unhappy was unjust.

So he stood thus for an appreciable silence, staying motionless save
that behind his back his fingers were bruising one another. Everywhere
was this or that bright color and an incessant melody. It was
unbearable. Then it was over; the ordered progress of all happenings
was apparent, simple, and natural; and contentment came into his heart
like a flight of linnets over level fields at dawn. He left her, and
as he went he sang.

Sang Maudelain:

"Christ save us all, as well He can,
A solis ortus cardine!
For He is both God and man,
Qui natus est de virgine,
And we but part of His wide plan
That sing, and heartily sing we,
'Gloria Tibi, Domine!'

"Between a heifer and an ass
Enixa est puerpera;
In ragged woollen clad He was
Qui regnat super aethera,
And patiently may we then pass
That sing, and heartily sing we,
'Gloria Tibi, Domine!'"

The Queen shivered in the glad sunlight. "I am, it must be, pitiably
weak," she said at last, "becaus