To speak with me in private. It is strange;
But it will end in nothing. Go, Cecile.
Stop; I've forgotten how my

This morning; put it right.

hair was dress'd

Look, here he comes; But there's one with him-said he not alone

He wish'd to see me? I will go within
And thou canst say that I expect him there.

Enter VAN ARTEVELDE and SIR FLEUREANT.

CECILE.

My lady waits your pleasure, sir, within.

[Exit.

[VAN ARTEVELDE passes into the inner apartment. Your servant, sir; would you too see my mistress?

SIR FLEUREANT.

If it so please your master.

CECILE.

Who's my master?

SIR FLEUREANT.

I cry you mercy, is it not the Regent ?

CECILE.

The Regent is no master, sir, of mine.

CECILE.

Who told you that?

SIR FLEUREANT.

A Cupid that brake loose

From the close service he was sent upon,
Which was to watch their meetings.

He gave it out, this was the great horse-lie
Made for the other to mount.

SIR FLEUREANT.

Come, then, the truth?

CECILE.

The well is not so deep but you may see it.
The Regent sometimes at the close of day
Has fits of lowness and is wearied much
With galloping so long from post to post,
And then my lady hath the voice of a bird
Which entertains his ears.

SIR FLEUREANT.

An hour or two, no more.

The live-long night?

CECILE.

SIR FLEUREANT.

Which being past

I would not swear that you had learnt good manners;
That you'd been whipp'd as often as need was
In breeding of you up, I would not swear;

I would not swear that what you wanted then
Has not been since made good; I would not swear—

SIR FLEUREANT.

Quarter, quarter!—truce to your would not swearing! Here is the Regent.

Enter ARTEVELDE with ELENA.

ARTEVELDE.

Sir Fleureant, I have pled in your behalf
And gain'd you audience; for the rest, your trust
Is in your eloquence.

SIR FLEUREANT.

Alas! my lord,

In nothing better? I had placed my trust
Not in the eloquence of rugged man,

But woman's fair fidelity.

ELENA.

Sir Knight,

I will not task your tongue for eloquence,
Though it be ne'er so ready.

ARTEVELDE.

I am here

But an intruder.

I will say no more,

Save that the lady's choice, be what it may,
Commands my utmost means and best good-will.

ELENA.

Stay, stay, Cecile; you will attend me here.

[Exit.

You come, sir, from my lord the Duke of Bourbon, And why you come I partly can collect

From what the Regent spake. The Duke's desire Is that I join him presently in France.

SIR FLEUREANT.

Such is his-what?-his madness had I called it
Before I saw you,—but I call it now
Only his bitter fate, that nothing gay
In palaces or courts can win him off
From thoughts of you, that nothing high or great
In policy or war has power to move him,
Nothing which fame awaits, ambition woos,
Whilst you are absent entertains his mind.

ELENA.

I'm sorry if my absence vex the Duke.
Sorry if it offend him.

SIR FLEUREANT.

'Tis a grief

More cutting as anticipated less;

For though the tie had not the Church's sanction,
He had not deem'd it therefore less secure.

Such faith was his in what he thought was faith
In her he loved, that all the world's traditions
Of woman's hollow words and treacherous wiles
Could not unfix him from his fast belief.
Moreover he has proffer'd deeds of gift
As ample as the dowry of a duchess,
Would you
but meet his wishes and return
But for a day, and should you find thenceforth
Just cause of discontent, with this rich freight
Might you depart as freely as before.

ELENA.

The Duke has been most liberal of his offers,
And I have said I'm sorry to fall out
With what his grace desires :—that is not all-
His grace has been as liberal of reproaches;
But what, then, is his grief? Alas! alas!
The world's traditions may be true that speak
Of woman's infidelities and wiles,

But truer far that scripture is which saith
'Put not your trust in princes.'

SIR FLEUREANT.

This is strange,

And would amaze him much. In what, I pray,

Has he deceived you?

ELENA.

Men, sir, think it little ;