Angele herself he did not see--she was kneeling in an obscure corner, her father's hand in hers, all the passion of her life pouring out in prayer.
De la Foret drew himself up with an iron will.

No nobler figure of a man ever essayed to preach the Word, and so Elizabeth thought; and she repented of the bitter humour which had set this trial as his chance of life in England and his freedom from the hand of Catherine.

The man bulked larger in her eyes than he had ever done, and she struggled with herself to keep the vow she had made to the Duke's Daughter the night that Angele had been found in De la Foret's rooms.

He had been the immediate cause, fated or accidental, of the destined breach between Leicester and herself; he had played a significant part in her own life.
Glancing at her courtiers, she saw that none might compare with him, the form and being of calm boldness and courage.

She sighed she knew scarce why.
When De la Foret first opened his mouth and essayed to call the worshippers to prayer, no words came forth--only a dry whisper.