devil, the king will not find that paper, for John Heywood will not have
it so. But how shall I begin? Shall I tell the queen what I heard?
No! She would lose her cheerful spirit and become embarrassed, and the
embarrassment would be in the king's eyes the most convincing proof of
her guilt. No, I must take this paper out of the rosette without the
queen's being aware of it. Boldly to work, then! I must have this paper,
and tweak these hypocrites by the nose. How it can be done, it is not
clear to me yet; but I will do it--that is enough. Halloo, forward to
the queen!"

With precipitant haste he ran through the halls and corridors, while
with a smile he muttered away to himself: "Thank God, I enjoy the honor
of being the fool; for only the king and the fool have the privilege of
being able to enter unannounced every room, even the queen's."

Catharine was alone in her boudoir, when the small door, through which
the king was accustomed to resort to her, was softly opened.

"Oh, the king is coming!" said she, walking to the door to greet her
husband.

"Yes, the king is coming, for the fool is already here," said John
Heywood, who entered through the private door. "Are we alone, queen?
Does nobody overhear us?"

"No, John Heywood, we are all alone. What do you bring me?"

"A letter, queen."

"From whom?" asked she, and a glowing crimson flitted over her cheek.

"From whom?" repeated John Heywood, with a waggish smile. "I do not
know, queen; but at any rate it is a begging letter; and without doubt
you would do well not to read it at all; for I bet you, the shameless
writer of this letter demands of you some impossibility--it may be a
smile, or a pressure of the hand, a lock of your hair, or perchance even
a kiss. So, queen, do not read the begging letter at all."

"John," said she, smiling, and yet trembling with impatience, "John,
give me the letter."

"I will sell it to you, queen. I have learned that from the king, who
likewise gives nothing away generously, without taking in return more
than he gives. So let us trade. I give you the letter; you give me the
rosette which you wear on your shoulder there."

"Nay, indeed, John; choose something else--I cannot give you the
rosette."

"And by the gods be it sworn!" exclaimed John, with comic pathos, "I
give you not the letter, if you do not give me the rosette."

"Silly loon," said the queen, "I tell you I cannot! Choose something
else, John; and I conjure