e was who did not allow himself to be deceived by this mask
which King Henry had to-day put on over his wrathful face.

John Heywood had faith neither in the king's cheerfulness nor in his
tenderness. He knew the king; he was aware that those to whom he was
most friendly often had the most to fear from him. Therefore, he watched
him; and he saw, beneath this mask of friendliness, the king's real
angry countenance sometimes flash out in a quick, hasty look.

The resounding music and the mad rejoicing no more deceived John
Heywood. He beheld Death standing behind this dazzling life; he smelt
the reek of corruption concealed beneath the perfume of these brilliant
flowers.

John Heywood no longer laughed and no longer chatted. He watched.

For the first time in a long while the king did not need to-day the
exciting jest and the stinging wit of his fool in order to be cheerful
and in good humor.

So the fool had time and leisure to be a reasonable and observant man;
and he improved the time.

He saw the looks of mutual understanding and secure triumph that Earl
Douglas exchanged with Gardiner, and it made him mistrustful to notice
that the favorites of the king, at other times so jealous, did not seem
to be at all disturbed by the extraordinary marks of favor which the
Howards were enjoying this evening.

Once he heard how Gardiner asked Wriothesley, as he passed by, "And the
soldiers of the Tower?" and how he replied just as laconically, "They
stand near the coach, and wait."

It was, therefore, perfectly clear that somebody would be committed
to prison this very day. There was, therefore, among the laughing,
richly-attired, and jesting guests of this court, one who this very
night, when he left these halls radiant with splendor and pleasure, was
to behold the dark and gloomy chambers of the Tower.

The only question was, who that one was for whom the brilliant comedy of
this evening was to be changed to so sad a drama.

John Heywood felt his heart oppressed with an unaccountable
apprehension, and the king's extraordinary tenderness toward the queen
terrified him.

As now he smiled on Catharine, as he now stroked her cheeks, so had the
king smiled on Anne Boleyn in the same hour that he ordered her arrest;
so had he stroked Buckingham's cheek on the same day that he signed his
death-warrant.

The fool was alarmed at this brilliant feast, resounding music, and the
mad merriment of the king. He was horrified at