and forthwith pretended to grow faint.

Charles was at her elbow in an instant, supporting her.

"Oh,--Sire, I--" she continued, in her efforts to speak.

"What is it?" cried Charles, seriously, endeavouring to assist her. "You
are pale, Louise."

"I am faint," replied she, with much difficulty. "Pardon my longer
audience, Sire; I am not well. _Garcon_, my chair. Assist me to the
door."

The fat landlord made a hasty exit, for him, toward the street, in his
desire to help the great lady. Charles supported her to the threshold.

"Call a leech, Sire," cried Nell after them, with mock sympathy. "Her
grace has choked on a chicken-bone."

"Be still, wench," commanded the King. "Do not leave us, Louise; it
breaks the sport."

"Nay," pleaded Nell also, "do not go because of this little
merry-making, Duchess. I desire we may become better friends."

Her voice revived the Duchess.

"_Sans doute_, we shall, madame," Portsmouth replied, coldly. "_A
mon bal! Pas adieu, mais au revoir_."

The great Duchess courtesied low, kissed the King's hand, arose to her
full height and, with an eye-shot at Nell, took her departure.

CHAPTER X

_Arrest him yourself!_

The King stood at the door, thoughtfully reflecting on the temper of the
departing Duchess. She was a maid of honour and, more than that, an
emissary from his brother Louis of France. Gossip said he loved her, but
it was not true, though he liked her company exceeding well when the
mood suited. He regretted only the evening's incident, with the harsher
feeling it was sure to engender.

Nell stood by the fireplace, muttering French phrases in humorous
imitation of her grace. Observing the King's preoccupation, she tossed a
_serviette_ merrily at his head.

This brought his Majesty to himself again. He turned, and laughed as he
saw her; for his brain and heart delighted in her merry-making. He loved
her.

"What means this vile French?" she asked, with delicious suggestion of
the shrug, accent and manner of her vanquished rival.

"The Duchess means," explained the King, "that she gives a royal ball--"

"And invites me?" broke in Nell, quickly, placing her elbows upon a cask
and looking over it impishly at Charles.

"And invites you _not_" said the King, "and so outwits you."

"By her porters' wits and not her own," retorted Nell.

She threw herself into a chair and became oblivious for the moment of
her surroundings.

"The