g. Nay, my
brother, I do not question your sincerity, yet you sing with the voice
of an unhonored courtier. Suppose Queen Ysabeau had heard your song
all through and then had said--for she is not as the run of
women--'Messire, I had thought till this there was no thorough man in
England saving Roger Mortimer. I find him tawdry now, and--I remember.
Come you, then, and rule the England that you love as you may love no
woman, and rule me, messire, for I find even in your cruelty--England!
bah, we are no pygmies, you and I!'" the Countess said with a great
voice; "'yonder is squabbling Europe and all the ancient gold of
Africa, ready for our taking! and past that lies Asia, too, and its
painted houses hung with bells, and cloud-wrapt Tartary, wherein we
twain may yet erect our equal thrones, whereon to receive the tributary
emperors! For we are no pygmies, you and I.'" She paused and more
lately shrugged. "Suppose Queen Ysabeau had said this much, my
brother?"

Darrell was more pallid, as the phrase is, than a sheet, and the lute
had dropped unheeded, and his hands were clenched.

"I would answer, my sister, that as she has found in England but one
man, I have found in England but one woman--the rose of all the world."
His eyes were turned at this toward Rosamund Eastney. "And yet," the
man stammered, "for that I, too, remember--"

"Nay, in God's name! I am answered," the Countess said. She rose, in
dignity almost a queen. "We have ridden far to-day, and to-morrow we
must travel a deal farther--eh, my brother? I am a trifle overspent,
Messire de Berners." And her face had now the weary beauty of an
idol's.

So the men and women parted. Madame de Farrington kissed her brother
in leaving him, as was natural; and under her caress his stalwart
person shuddered, but not in repugnance; and the Queen went bedward
regretful of an ancient spring and singing hushedly.

Sang Ysabeau:

"_Were the All-Mother wise, life (shaped anotherwise)
Would be all high and true;
Could I be otherwise I had been otherwise
Simply because of you,
Who are no longer you._

"_Life with its pay to be bade us essay to be
What we became,--I believe
Were there a way to be what it was play to be
I would not greatly grieve...
And I neither laugh nor grieve!_"

Ysabeau would have slept that night within the chamber of Rosamund
Eastney had either slept at all. As concerns the older I say nothing.
The