Chapter 13

_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 French hussy! So she gives a ball?" she thought. "Well, well, I'll be there! I'll teach her much. Oh, I'll be pretty, too, aye, very pretty. No fear yet of rivalry or harm for England."

Charles watched her amusedly, earnestly, lovingly. The vixen had fallen unconsciously into imitating again the Duchess's foreign ways, as an accompaniment even for her thoughts.

"_Sans doute_, we shall, _madame_" Nell muttered audibly, with much gesticulating and a mocking accent. "_A mon bal! Pas adieu, mais au revoir_."

The King came closer.

"Are you ill," he asked, "that you do mutter so and wildly act?"

"I was only thinking that, if I were a man," she said, turning toward him playfully, "I would love your Duchess to devotion. Her wit is so original, her repartee so sturdy. Your Majesty's taste in horses--and some women--is excellent."

She crossed the room gaily and threw herself laughing upon the bench. The King followed her.

"Heaven help the being, naughty Nell," he said, "who offends thy merry tongue; but I love thee for it." He sat down beside her in earnest adoration, then caught her lovingly in his arms.

"Love me?" sighed Nell, scarce mindful of the embrace. "Ah, Sire, I am but a plaything for the King at best, a caprice, a fancy--naught else."

"Nay, sweet," said Charles, "you have not read this heart."

"I have read it too deeply," replied Nell, with much meaning in her voice. "It is this one to-day, that one to-morrow, with King Charles. Ah, Sire, your love for the poor player-girl is summed up in three little words: 'I amuse you!'"

"Amuse me!" exclaimed Charles, thoughtfully. "Hark ye, Nell! States may marry us; they cannot make us love. Ye Gods, the humblest peasant in my realm is monarch of a heart of his own choice. Would I were such a king!"

"What buxom country lass," asked Nell, sadly but wistfully, "teaches your fancy to follow the plough, my truant master?"

"You forget: I too," continued Charles, "have been an outcast, like Orange Nell, seeking a crust and bed."

He arose and turned away sadly to suppress his emotion. He was not the King of England now: he was a man who had suffered; he was a man among men.

"Forgive me, Sire," said Nell, tenderly, as a woman only can speak, "if I recall unhappy times."

"Unhappy!" echoed Charles, while Fancy toyed with Recollection. "Nell, in those dark days, I learned to read the human heart. God taught me then the distinction 'twixt friend and enemy. When a misled rabble had dethroned my father, girl, and murdered him before our palace gate, and bequeathed the glorious arts and progressive sciences to religious bigots and fanatics, to trample under foot and burn--when, if a little bird sang overjoyously, they cut out his tongue for daring to be merry--in some lonely home by some stranger's hearth, a banished prince, called Charles Stuart, oft found an asylum of plenty and repose; and in your eyes, my Nell, I read the self-same, loyal, English heart."

There was all the sadness of great music in his speech. Nell fell upon her knee, and kissed his hand, reverently.

"My King!" she said; and her voice trembled with passionate love.

He raised her tenderly and kissed her upon the lips.

"My queen," he said; and his voice too trembled with passionate love.

"And Milton says that Paradise is lost," whispered Nell. Her head rested on the King's shoulder. She looked up--the picture of perfect happiness--into his eyes.

"Not while Nell loves Charles," he said.

"And Charles remembers Nell," her voice answered, softly.

Meanwhile, the rotund landlord had entered unobserved; and a contrast he made, indeed, to the endearing words of the lovers as at this instant he unceremoniously burst forth in guttural accents with:

"The bill! The bill for supper, sir!"

Nell looked at the King and the King looked at Nell; then both looked at the landlord. The lovers' sense of humour was boundless. That was their first tie; the second, their hearts.

"The bill!" repeated Nell, smothering a laugh. "Yes, we were just speaking of the bill."

"How opportune!" exclaimed Charles, taking the cue. "We feared you would forget it, sirrah."

"See that it is right," ejaculated Nell.

The King glanced at the bill indifferently, but still could not fail to see "3 chickens" in unschooled hand. His eyes twinkled and he glanced at the landlord, but the latter avoided his look with a pretence of innocence.