h a lie in my mouth?"

"There spake my Susan's own maid," said Richard. "'Tis the joy of my
heart that they have not been able to teach thee to lie with a good
grace. Trust my word, my wench, truth is the only wisdom, and one
would have thought they might have learnt it by this time."

"I only doubted, lest it should be to your damage, dear father. Can
they call it treason?"

"I trow not, my child. The worst that could hap would be that I might
be lodged in prison a while, or have to pay a fine; and liefer, far
liefer, would I undergo the like than that those lips of thine should
learn guile. I say not that there is safety for any of us, least of
all for thee, my poor maid, but the danger is tenfold increased by
trying to deceive; and, moreover, it cannot be met with a good
conscience."

"Moreover," said Cicely, "I have pleadings and promises to make on my
mother-queen's behalf that would come strangely amiss if I had to feign
that I had never seen her! May I not seek the Queen at once, without
waiting for this French gentleman? Then would this weary, weary time
be at an end! Each time I hear a bell, or a cannon shot, I start and
think, Oh! has she signed the warrant? Is it too late?"

"There is no fear of that," said Richard; "I shall know from Will
Cavendish the instant aught is done, and through Diccon I could get
thee brought to the Queen's very chamber in time to plead. Meantime,
the Queen is in many minds. She cannot bear to give up her kinswoman;
she sits apart and mutters, 'Aut fer aut feri,' and 'Ne feriare feri.'
Her ladies say she tosses and sighs all night, and hath once or twice
awoke shrieking that she was covered with blood. It is Burghley and
Walsingham who are forcing this on, and not her free will. Strengthen
but her better will, and let her feel herself secure, and she will
spare, and gladly."

"That do I hope to do," said Cicely, encouraged. The poor girl had to
endure many a vicissitude and heart-sinking before M. de Bellievre
appeared; and when he did come, he was a disappointment.

He was a most magnificent specimen of the mignons of Henri's court. The
Embassy rang with stories of the number of mails he had brought, of the
milk baths he sent for, the gloves he slept in, the valets who tweaked
out superfluous hairs from his eyebrows, the delicacies required for
his little dogs.

M. de Salmonnet reported that on hearing the story of "Mademoiselle,"
as Cicely was called in the