Will it not, my Fleming?"
"She grows wilder and wilder," said Fleming; "we have too many
hearers for these strange words."
"Roland," said Catherine, "in the name of God, begone! You cannot
aid us here--Leave us to deal with her alone--Away--away!"
She thrust him to the door of the anteroom; yet even when he had
entered that apartment, and shut the door, he could still hear the
Queen talk in a loud and determined tone, as if giving forth orders,
until at length the voice died away in a feeble and continued
lamentation.
At this crisis Catherine entered the anteroom. "Be not too anxious,"
she said, "the crisis is now over; but keep the door fast--let no one
enter until she is more composed."
"In the name of God, what does this mean?" said the page; "or what
was there in the Lady Fleming's words to excite so wild a transport?"
"Oh, the Lady Fleming, the Lady Fleming," said Catherine, repeating
the words impatiently; "the Lady Fleming is a fool--she loves her
mistress, yet knows so little how to express her love, that were the
Queen to ask her for very poison, she would deem it a point of duty
not to resist her commands. I could have torn her starched head-tire
from her formal head--The Queen should have as soon had the heart out
of my body, as the word Sebastian out of my lips--That that piece of
weaved tapestry should be a woman, and yet not have wit enough to tell
a lie!"
"And what was this story of Sebastian?" said the page.
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