unt de Grammont.

Soon after leaving Frances in the maids' apartments, I met that most
interesting gentleman roue, his Grace de Grammont, coming from the king's
closet. As already stated, he had been banished from the French court by
Louis XIV because of a too great friendliness for one of the king's
sweethearts, and was living in exile in London till Louis should forgive
his interference. The French king really liked De Grammont and trusted
him when his Majesty's lady-loves were not concerned, so the count had
been sent to England in honorable exile, and was employed in certain
cases as a spy and in others as a means of secret communication between
the French king and persons connected with the court of Charles II.

When De Grammont saw me, he came forward, holding out both hands in his
effusive French manner, apparently overjoyed at finding a long-lost
brother.

"Come with me, my dear baron," he cried, bending so close to me that I
feared he was going to kiss me. "Come with me! You are the very man of
all the world I want, I need, I must have!"

"You have me, my dear count," said I, "but I cannot go with you. I am
engaged elsewhere."

"No, no, let me whisper!" He brought his lips close to my ear and
continued almost inaudibly: "You may please me. You may help a friend.
You may oblige--a king."

The last, of course, was the _ne plus ultra_ of inducement according to
the count's way of thinking, and he supposed the mere suggestion would
vanquish me. Still I pleaded my engagement. He insisted, however,
repeating in my ear:--

"Oblige a king! A real king! Not a flimsy fool of bourgeois, who makes of
himself the laughing-stock of his people, but a real king. I cannot name
him now, but you must know."

We were in a narrow passage leading to the Stone Gallery in Whitehall. He
looked about him a moment, then taking me by the arm, led me to the Stone
Gallery and thence to the garden. I wanted to stop, but he kept his grasp
on my arm, repeating now and then the word "Come" in whispers, till we
reached a lonely spot in St. James Park. There he halted, and though
there was not a living creature in sight, he brought his lips to my ear
and breathed the name, "'Sieur George Hamilton."

I tried not to show that I was startled, but the quickwitted, sharp-eyed
Frenchman read me as though I were an open book, and grasping my hand,
cried out:--

"Ah, I knew you could tell me. It is to rejoice! I knew it!"

"Tell you what, c