of all for her pot au feu.  She was busied about her domestic affairs morning, noon, and night, and never ceased chattering the whole time, till Cicely began to regard the sound like the clack of the mill at Bridgefield.  Yet, talker as she was, she was a safe woman, and never had been known to betray secrets.  Indeed, much more of her conversation consisted of speculations on the tenderness of the poultry, or the freshness of the fish, than of anything that went much deeper.  She did, however, spend much time in describing the habits and customs of the pensioners at Soissons; the maigre food they had to eat; their tricks upon the elder and graver nuns, and a good deal besides that was amusing at first, but which became rather wearisome, and made Cicely wonder what either of her mothers would have thought of it.

The excuse for all this was to enable the maiden to make her appearance before Queen Elizabeth as freshly brought from Soissons by her mother’s danger.  Mary herself had suggested this, as removing all danger from the Talbots, and as making it easier for the French Embassy to claim and protect Cis herself; and M. de Chateauneuf had so far acquiesced as to desire Madame de Salmonnet to see whether the young lady could be prepared to assume the character before eyes that would not be over qualified to judge.  Cis, however, had always been passive when the proposal was made, and the more she heard from Madame de Salmonnet, the more averse she was to it.  The only consideration that seemed to her in its favour was the avoidance of implicating her foster-father, but a Sunday morning spent with him removed the scruple.

“I know I cannot feign,” she said.  “They all used to laugh at me at Chartley for being too much of the downright mastiff to act a part.”

“I am right glad to hear it,” said Richard.

“Moreover,” added Cicely, “if I did try to turn my words with the Scottish or French ring, I wot that the sight of the Queen’s Majesty and my anxiety would drive out from me all I should strive to remember, and I should falter and utter mere folly; and if she saw I was deceiving her, there would be no hope at all.  Nay, how could I ask God Almighty to bless my doing with 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.”