It would be like the Queen, if her temper was up, to demand from the Medici the return of De la Foret, and war might ensue.

Two women, with two nations behind them, were not to be played lightly against each other, trusting to their common sense and humour.
As he walked among the trees, brooding with averted eyes, he was suddenly faced by the Seigneur of Rozel, who also was shaken from his discretion and the best interests of the two fugitives he was bound to protect, by a late offence against his own dignity.

A seed of rancour had been sown in his mind which had grown to a great size and must presently burst into a dark flower of vengeance.

He, Lempriere of Rozel, with three dovecotes, the perquage, and the office of butler to the Queen, to be called a "farmer," to be sneered at--it was not in the blood of man, not in the towering vanity of a Lempriere, to endure it at any price computable to mortal mind.
Thus there were in England on that day two fools (there are as many now), and one said: "My Lord Leicester, I crave a word with you." "Crave on, good fellow," responded Leicester with a look of boredom, making to pass by.
"I am Lempriere, lord of Rozel, my lord--" "Ah yes, I took you for a farmer," answered Leicester.

"Instead of that, I believe you keep doves, and wear a jerkin that fits like a king's.
Dear Lord, so does greatness come with girth!" "The King that gave me dove-cotes gave me honour, and 'tis not for the Earl of Leicester to belittle it." "What is your coat of arms ?" said Leicester with a faint smile, but in an assumed tone of natural interest.
"A swan upon a sea of azure, two stars above, and over all a sword with a wreath around its point," answered Lempriere simply, unsuspecting irony, and touched by Leicester's flint where he was most like to flare up with vanity.
"Ah!" said Leicester.