"What sudden chance is this? quoth he,
That I to love must subject be,
*   *   *   *
But still did it defie."

In the afternoon following the morning of Kophetua\'s adventure the Queen-mother was sitting in her little garden pavilion, and at her feet was curled Mlle de Tricotrin reading to her in the prettiest of soft white gowns, and the prettiest of natural attitudes. It was a strange little building, which the Queen had christened the Temple of Sensibility. It was perhaps more like a Greek temple than most things, but more strictly speaking it belonged to that style of architecture which reached its culmination in the valentines and burial cards of fifty years ago. The Queen was very fond of it. It stood in a quiet corner of that part of the palace gardens which was set apart for her private use, and she had lavished considerable thought and taste in the interior decoration. The walls were covered with vast [Pg 95]architectural perspectives produced almost to infinity, so that the little place seemed to be the focus on which all the draughts of a vast and airy hall were concentrated, and at various points fat little Cupids were apparently trying to anchor themselves to the columns by wreaths of roses, as though in fear of being blown out of the composition. The effect was cool, but not cosy; yet the Queen was very fond of it, and had brought Mlle de Tricotrin thither with the air of one who has a great favour to bestow.

They were already fast friends. The Queen-mother was of an affectionate nature, and was starving for an object on which her affection could feed. As has been said, she was thoroughly German, and shared the characteristics of the educated and refined German lady of her time. It was a mixture we seldom see nowadays. On one side she was homely and practical, on the other highly imaginative and dreamy. She cannot perhaps be better expressed than in terms of her tastes. The Queen-mother had a passion for needlework and transcendental philosophy. Oddly enough, Mlle de Tricotrin had quite a pretty taste in them too.

At her new friend\'s first entry into the ballroom the Queen had certainly been a little shocked. It was impossible not to regard her costume as a little immodest; but when she began to dance, and Margaret saw how pretty and childish and unaffected she[Pg 96] was, and how, above all, she seemed to charm the stony heart of the King, she began to recognise in Mlle de Tricotrin the simple, well-brought-up, and beautiful girl of whom she had heard so hopefully from the Governor of the Canaries. A very few words which passed between the two women the night of the ball and on the following morning had been enough to bring the heart-sick woman under the spell as much as anybody else. The result was an invitation and the present visit to the Temple of Sensibility. Mlle de Tricotrin admired the embroidery, and asked if she could help. Beside the Queen-mother\'s chair stood a large grinning monster from China, blue and hideous. He was a great pet of Margaret\'s, and she showed her affection by using him as a book-rest. Mlle de Tricotrin saw a volume of German philosophy resting on his paws, and began to express her admiration of the author in terms that would be for our ears a little high-flown and sentimental. Thus in a very few minutes the impression she had already created was more than confirmed. With new-born happiness the Queen accepted her offer to read, and now as she worked and listened to the musical voice, she was entranced as much by the sound as the sense that filled her ears.

"Ah," said the Queen, as the reader paused after a passage of great beauty, "why must material bodies so clog our spirit that it[Pg 97] cannot rise to the places which these great men point out to us?"

"But indeed it can, madam," said the beauty. "I do not remember my soul\'s prison when I read such words as these. I forget all that is tainted with matter, and seem to float up and down in the highest empyrean, with the bright spirits that are wafted by on the breath of the song the angels sing."

"Then indeed you are blessed," the Queen answered; "but such freedom can never be mine. I am chained by a sin to the body of death, and may not melt into the eternal till my fetters are broken. But you have never lost the freedom which purity alone can give. And yet," she continued, smiling sadly, and laying her hand on the girl\'s soft heap of hair, "I wonder your soul likes to leave the dwelling-place which God has made so fair for it. You are very, very pretty, my child!"

Mlle de Tricotrin looked up in the Queen\'s face. The sad eyes were moist with tears, and were looking down at her so lovingly that she could not help taking in hers the thin hand that had been caressing her, and kissing it reverently.

"Ah! madam," she said, so earnestly and sadly that the Queen was quite surprised at the change of her tones, "what might I have been if I had had a mother like you to guide me! but my mother died before I can remember."

[Pg 98]

"That is a hard thing for a girl," answered the Queen, "and you have fought your way alone bravely. Yes, it is hard, but is not my lot harder still? What might my lonely life have been with a daughter like you to warm and brighten it? But I have no child—I have no child."

"But you have the King!"

"No, he is not mine. He is hard and cold, and thinks of nothing but himself."

"Indeed your majesty does him wrong," cried Mlle de Tricotrin eagerly. "He is not what you say. He spoke so differently to me when—when we were alone in the garden."

The last words she said with some hesitation and in a low sweet voice, and, looking down, pretended to arrange the folds of her soft gown with the prettiest embarrassment as she went on, "He told me of his lofty aspirations, how he longed to do some great thing for his people, how miserable he was at the hollow life he led—O madam! believe me, he has a noble heart."

"And he told all this to you?" said the Queen, between surprise and delight.

"Yes, and much more," answered her companion, looking up with a frank, innocent look which seemed ignorant of how much her words meant. So frank and innocent indeed were her eyes, that for a moment Margaret doubted. She put her hands on the soft hair once more, and gazed steadfastly upon[Pg 99] the lovely face that was upturned to her; it was a look which searched deep, it was a look hard to be borne, till the sad eyes of the widow grew dim with tears. Then the Queen-mother bent down and kissed Mlle de Tricotrin very, very tenderly.

Their further conversation was interrupted by an attendant announcing that the King was without, and desired to know whether the Queen could receive him. It was a very long time since the poor mother had had such a request made to her by her son. So great a coldness had gradually grown up between them that they hardly ever met except on public occasions. They had come so entirely to misunderstand each other that private interviews between them at last became so constrained as to be quite painful to both. It was then with a flush of surprise and pleasure that she ordered him to be admitted at once, and some impulse or other which she did not stop to analyse prompted her to press Mlle de Tricotrin\'s hand affectionately as they rose to receive the visitor.

"Good day, madam," said Kophetua, with a shade of annoyance passing over his handsome face at the sight of Mlle de Tricotrin. "I had thought to find you alone!"

"Shall Mlle de Tricotrin retire?" asked the Queen. It was impossible to hesitate. He would have liked to say "Yes," but that would seem to give a mystery to his errand, which was exactly what he wanted to avoid.[Pg 100] Besides, it would seem rude, and then she really looked very sweet in her soft white gown and tangled brown hair. So he bowed profoundly, and begged that Mlle de Tricotrin would do him the honour of remaining.

"Are you not well, Kophetua?" asked the Queen anxiously. "You look pale and tired; have you not slept?"

"I thank you, madam, I am in perfect health," answered the King shortly. It was always the poor Queen\'s fate to say the very thing that of all others was calculated to irritate him, and, anxious as he was to hide all traces of his last night\'s exploit, he on this occasion had great difficulty in not showing his annoyance. In order to succeed, he found himself making a more elaborate compliment to Mlle de Tricotrin than was necessary, and the bright look of pleasure she gave him in return only increased his vexation.

"Mlle de Tricotrin has been reading some beautiful things to me," said the Queen, with a well-meant attempt to turn the conversation into a channel which she believed was agreeable to both. "............