ery well. Leave him with me, sir, and retire with your men to the foot
of the steps. If you hear a whistle, return as quickly as possible."

The officer bowed, turned about, and departed, followed by his men.
Darrell and I stood facing one another for a moment.

"In hell's name, what's the meaning of this, Darrell?" I cried. "Has
Madame brought the Bastille over with her, and are you made Governor?"

He answered not a word. Keeping his sword still in readiness, he
knocked with the muzzle of his pistol on the door by him. After a moment
it was opened, and a head looked out. The face was Sir Thomas
Clifford's; the door was flung wide, a gesture from Darrell bade me
enter. I stepped in, he followed, and the door was instantly shut close
behind us.

I shall not readily forget the view disclosed to me by the flaring oil
lamps hung in sconces to the ancient smoky walls. I was in a narrow
room, low and not large, scantly furnished with faded richness, and hung
to half its height with mouldering tapestries. The floor was bare, and
uneven from time and use. In the middle of the room was a long table of
polished oak wood; in the centre of it sat the King, on his left was the
Duchess of Orleans, and beyond her the Duke of York; on the King's right
at the end of the table was an empty chair; Clifford moved towards it
now and took his seat; next to him was Arlington, then Colbert de
Croissy, the Special Envoy of the French King. Next to our King was
another empty chair, an arm-chair, like the King's; empty it was, but M.
de Perrencourt leant easily over the back of it, with his eyes fixed on
me. On the table were materials for writing, and a large sheet of paper
faced the King--or M. de Perrencourt; it seemed just between them. There
was nothing else on the table except a bottle of wine and two cups; one
was full to the brim, while the liquor in the other fell short of the
top of the glass by a quarter of an inch. All present were silent; save
M. de Perrencourt, all seemed disturbed; the King's swarthy face
appeared rather pale than swarthy, and his hand rapped nervously on the
table. All this I saw, while Darrell stood rigidly by me, sword in hand.

Madame was the first to speak; her delicate subtle face lit up with
recognition.

"Why, I have spoken with this gentleman," she said in a low voice.

"And I also," said M. de Perrencourt under his breath.

I think he hardly knew that he spoke, for the words seemed the merest
unc