"Call me not thus!" said she. "Queen! My God, is not
all the fearful past heard again in that word? Queen! Is it not as
much as to say, condemned to the scaffold and a public criminal
trial? Ah, Jane! a deadly tremor runs through my members. I am Henry
the Eighth's sixth queen; I shall also be executed, or, loaded with
disgrace, be repudiated."
Again she hid her face in her hands, and her whole frame shook; so
she saw not the smile of malicious satisfaction with which Lady Jane
again observed her. She suspected not with what secret delight her
friend heard her lamentations and sighs.
"Oh! I am at least revenged!" thought Jane, while she lovingly
stroked the queen's hair. "Yes, I am revenged! She has robbed me of
a crown, but she is wretched; and in the golden goblet which she
presses to her lips she will find nothing but wormwood! Now, if this
sixth queen dies not on the scaffold, still we may perhaps so work
it that she dies of anxiety, or deems it a pleasure to be able to
lay down again her royal crown at Henry's feet."
Then said she aloud: "But why these fears, Catharine? The king loves
you; the whole court has seen with what tender and ardent looks he
has regarded you to-day, and with what delight he has listened to
your every word. Certainly the king loves you."
Catharine seized her hand impulsively. "The king loves me,"
whispered she, "and I, I tremble before him. Yes, more than that,
his love fills me with horror! His hands are dipped in blood, and as
I saw him to-day in his crimson robes I shuddered, and I thought,
How soon, and my blood, too, will dye this crimson!"
Jane smiled.
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