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He was indeed speaking now, but so low and warily that no more than a gentle murmur reached my ears. Nor did his gestures aid; they were as far from Monmouth's jovial violence as his tones from the Duke's reckless exclaiming. He was urgent but courteous, most insistent yet most deferential. Monmouth claimed and challenged, M. de Perrencourt seemed to beseech and woo.
You know enough, I think, to tell you that you receive a great honour in M. de Perrencourt's request. Your discretion will show your worthiness. Kiss Madame's hand and leave us." They both smiled at me, and I stood half-bewildered. "Go," said M. de Perrencourt with a laugh, clapping me on the shoulder. The two turned away. Madame held out her hand towards me; I bent and kissed it.
That was the game; otherwise, whence came M. de Perrencourt's court and Monmouth's deference? The King saw eye to eye with M. de Perrencourt, and the King's son did not venture to thwart him. What matter that men spoke of other loves which the French King had?
For in the presence of Madame I read Je viens, in our King's, Tu viens; but I saw none whose coming would make the tidings Il vient worthy of a special messenger to London. But there was a gentleman to arrive from Calais. "He is called M. de Perrencourt," the Count replied, "and is related remotely to the lady whom you saw with Madame." I was disappointed, or rather checked.
He flushed red. "We know what we know, sir," said he. "If you have anything to say against M. de Perrencourt, consider me as his friend. Did you cry out to me as I rode last night?" "Why, yes, and I was a fool there. As for M. de Perrencourt " "If you speak of him, speak with respect, sir. You know of whom you speak." "Very well.
M. de Perrencourt was still silent. To tell the truth, I began to be a little uneasy; there were cells under the Castle, and I had need to be at large for the coming few days. "For," said I, "they tell such lies concerning princes." Now he turned towards me, saying, "There you're right, sir. The King of France, is of middle size, about my own height." For the life of me I could not resist it.
The King smiled at him; M. de Perrencourt laid a hand, decked with rich rings, on his lace cuff. Madame rose, laughing still, and joined the three.
"This, madame," said Darrell, in whose voice there was a ring of excitement and tremulous agitation, "is M. de Perrencourt, who has the honour of serving Her Royal Highness the Duchess. This lady, sir, is Mistress Barbara Quinton, maid of honour to the Duchess of York, and now in attendance on Madame." Barbara made a curtsey, M. de Perrencourt bowed.
It rang in my ears where nothing else could reach them, and even then I knew whence it came. The voice was the voice of M. de Perrencourt, and it seemed that he spoke to the King of England. "Brother," he cried, "by my faith in God, this gentleman is innocent, and his life is on our heads, if he lose it." I heard no more. Stupor veiled me round in an impenetrable mist.
The business with the King which had brought M. de Perrencourt so stealthily to Dover was finished, or was even now being accomplished; his presence and authority had reinforced Madame's persuasions, and the treaty was made. But in these high affairs I had no place.
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