n sinners, I guard my tongue for the sake of
Nelly and the last kiss she gave me on my cheek.

CHAPTER XXV

THE MIND OF M. DE FONTELLES

As I made my way through the Court nothing seemed changed; all was as I
had seen it when I came to lay down the commission that Mistress Gwyn
had got me. They were as careless, as merry, as shameless as before; the
talk then had been of Madame's coming, now it was of her going; they
talked of Dover and what had passed there, but the treaty was dismissed
with a shrug, and the one theme of interest, and the one subject of
wagers, was whether or how soon Mlle. de Querouaille would return to the
shores and the monarch she had left. In me distaste now killed
curiosity; I pushed along as fast as the throng allowed me, anxious to
perform my task and be quit of them all as soon as I could. My part
there was behind me; the prophecy was fulfilled, and my ambitions
quenched. Yet I had a pleasure in the remaining scene of the comedy
which I was to play with the King; I was amused also to see how those
whom I knew to be in the confidence of the Duke of York and of Arlington
eyed me with mingled fear and wariness, and hid distrust under a most
deferential civility. They knew, it seemed, that I had guessed their
secrets. But I was not afraid of them, for I was no more their rival in
the field of intrigue or in their assault upon the King's favour. I
longed to say to them, "Be at peace. In an hour from now you will see my
face no more."

The King sat in his chair, alone save for one gentleman who stood beside
him. I knew the Earl of Rochester well by repute, and had been before
now in the same company, although, as it chanced, I had never yet spoken
with him. I looked for the King's brother and for Monmouth, but neither
was to be seen. Having procured a gentleman to advise the King of my
presence, I was rewarded by being beckoned to approach immediately. But
when he had brought me there, he gave me no more than a smile, and,
motioning me to stand by him, continued his conversation with my Lord
Rochester and his caresses of the little dog on his lap.

"In defining it as the device by which the weak intimidate the strong,"
observed Rochester, "the philosopher declared the purpose of virtue
rather than its effect. For the strong are not intimidated, while the
weak, falling slaves to their own puppet, grow more helpless still."

"It's a just retribution on them," said the King, "for having i