“Ah? That is the truth?”
“Why should I seek to deceive you? ’Twere to no purpose.”
William said nothing. The peacock strutted behind the tree.
“What does King Charles want of me?” asked William at length.
“Naught but this alliance, Sir.”
“No compact? no treaty?”
“None that Your Highness does not desire.”
“Always the smooth answer. There are no conditions attached to the marriage?”
“None, Sir.”
“Then he hopes that I shall consider myself beholden unto him. Yet I do not greatly desire the marriage.”
“King Charles considers it politic, Sir. Louis grows too arrogant.”
“And the English too uneasy. Am I to understand that my uncle seeks to throw off the French yoke? Does he stand by me?”
“His Majesty has always wished to stand by you, Sir.”
The thin lips sneered.
“He blows hot and cold,” said William. “I have learnt how far he may be trusted.”
Roxhythe snapped off a dried twig.
“Permit me to say, Highness, that you do not as yet understand my master.”
William raised his eyes. There was a disconcerting gleam in their depths.
“Milor’, if you think that you do not know me.”
Roxhythe bowed.
“Then I have still something to learn, Sir.”
“I think that you have many things to learn, milor’. Among them that it is not wise never to act honestly by any man.”
“Highness, when have I acted dishonestly by you?”
William smiled sadly.
“Long ago, milor’, you came to me with an infamous proposal. I rejected it. So you trafficked in the name of your master with the French King. Later you came to me again, giving me lies and fair words. Again I rejected your proposals. So once more you went to Louis. What faith shall men have in you?”
My lord opened his comfit-box.
“Sir, it seems that you do not know me. Roxhythe cares for no man’s opinion.”
“It’s very bravely spoken, milor’, but there comes a time in every man’s life when the good opinion of others counts for much.”
My lord hesitated between a pink and a mauve sweetmeat. Finally he chose the pink.
“I am conceited enough to think that I can stand alone, Sir.”
“You do not stand alone,” said William unexpectedly. “You have the King behind you. But there will come a time when you will wish that you had not destroyed all men’s faith in you.”
Roxhythe put away the comfit-box.
“Your Highness appears to have great knowledge of my affairs,” he said. He was faintly amused.
“I do but know what everyone knows, milor’. You count no cost. You ruined Falmouth for your pleasure; you thwarted Cavendish the same. You tricked the Country Party some years ago. You have sacrificed all for one man.”
“All?”
“Honour, friendship, loyalty. What will come of it, milor’?”
“It remains to be seen, Sir. I am surprised that you take such an interest in one so debased.”
“Perhaps it is because I admire brain in any man. Perhaps because I realize what you might be, milor’. In a good cause you were invaluable. But you are inconsistent. Like the wind, you veer first one way in your policy, and then the other. I know that you possess great influence over my uncle. Yet you do not exert it in any way for the good. It is a thousand pities. And they tell me you were a soldier.”
Roxhythe seemed to sigh.
“That is long, long ago, Highness.”
William did not answer. Down the gravel walk was coming the King with the Duchess of Portsmouth on his arm. He was listening to something she had to say, his dark head bent slightly over hers. Then he laughed and patted her cheek. So they came to where the Prince was seated, Madame’s fine eyes glowing with merriment.
William rose.
“I have admired your gardens, Sir. Milor’ Roxhyt’e showed them to me.”
The King cast a contented glance round.
“I am pleased that you like them, William. I was at pains to design them after the Dutch fashion. You in Holland understand the art.”
“But no tulips!” said William, smiling.
“The season for them is over. We had a gay show in the spring. Has Roxhythe shown you the little lake?”
“No, Sir. Not yet.”
“Oh, you must see that!” He bore his nephew off.
Roxhythe was left with the Duchess. She sat down in William’s lately vacated seat. She was very beautiful to look on, framed by the roses in the arbour.
“Milor’, sit down!” Always she spoke French with Roxhythe. “Yes. So here is our little Prince.”
“Is it the first time you have seen him since he arrived, Madame?”
“No. But it is the first time that I have seen you since then. I have had speech with Barillon.”
“Have you? I find that Barillon palls on one.”
“Assuredly!” The slow, fascinating smile dawned. “He is so worthy. And he does not like to see the Prince in England.”
“If only he had told us sooner. …” deplored Roxhythe.
“He is uneasy in his mind, le pauvre!”
“He usually is uneasy,” sighed my lord.
“Without cause, hein? But this time he has cause. He listens with both ears to rumour.”
“How unwise!”
“Perhaps. He thinks the Prince has come to wed the Lady Mary.”
“And you?”
“Me, I think so too. I know more than ce cher Barillon. It is true, I am assured. The King has said as much. But what of King Louis?”
Roxhythe fixed a rose in her hair. Its soft gold tint harmonized with her gown.
“You should always wear flowers, madame. So few women can.”
“Aha! C’est joli?”
“C’est merveilleux.”
“Another here you think?” She touched her breast.
Roxhythe considered it.
“Yes. That is perfect.”
“Oh, for a mirror!” she sighed.
“You will never make me believe you have not one, madame.”
“Yes. You know us, n’est ce pas?” She regarded him gravely.
“I have had experience, you see,” said my lord.
“You know how to lead us away from the point; how to turn our minds from main issues. La-la! How weak is woman! But me, I am la Kéroualle.”
“And I am—Roxhythe.”
“In fact we are well-matched. What of Louis?”
“It is a question you best can answer, madame.”
“I can answer, yes. When you have answered.”
“What is it you would have me say?”
“I would have you tell me
