Chapter 15

_Beau Adair is my name._

The room was not long vacant. The hostess herself returned. She was radiant.

As she crossed the threshold, she glanced back proudly at the revellers, who, led by his Majesty, were turning night into day with their merry-making. She had the right, indeed, to be proud; for the evening, though scarce half spent, bespoke a complete triumph for her entertainment. This was the more gratifying too, in that she knew that there were many at court who did not wish the "imported" Duchess, as they called her, or her function well, though they always smiled sweetly at each meeting and at each parting and deigned now to feast beyond the limit of gentility upon her rich wines and collations.

The _bal masque_, however, as we have seen, was with the Duchess but a means to an end. She took from the hand of a pretty page the treaties, lately re-drawn by Bouillon, and glanced hastily over the parchments to see that her instructions from Louis were covered by their words. A smile played on her arching lips as she read and re-read and realized how near she was to victory.

"'Tis Portsmouth's night to-night!" she mused. "My great mission to England is nearly ended. Dear France, I feel that I was born for thy advancement."

She seated herself by the table, where the materials for writing had been placed, and further dwelt upon the outcome of the royal agreements, their contingencies and triumphs. She could write Charles Rex almost as well as the King, she thought, as her eye caught the places left for his signature.

"Bouillon never fails me," she muttered. "Drawn by King Charles's consent, except perchance some trifling articles which I have had interlined for Louis's sake. We need not speak of them. It would be troublesome to Charles. A little name and seal will make these papers history."

Her reflections were interrupted by the return of Buckingham, who was laughing so that he could scarcely speak.

"What is 't?" she asked, petulantly.

"The guard have stayed but now a gallant, Irish youth," replied he, as best he could for laughter, "who swore that he had letters to your highness. Oh, he swore, indeed; then pleaded; then threatened that he would fight them all with single hand. Of course, he won the ladies' hearts, as they entered the great hall, by his boyish swagger; but not the guards. Your orders were imperative--that none unbidden to the ball could enter."

"'Tis well," cried Portsmouth. "None, none! Letters to me! Did he say from whom?"

"He said," continued Buckingham, still laughing, "that he was under orders of his master to place them only in the Duchess's hands. Oh, he is a very lordly youth."

The Duke throughout made a sad attempt at amusing imitations of the brogue of the strange, youthful, Irish visitor who, with so much importunity, sought a hearing.

Portsmouth reflected a moment and then said: "I will see him, Buckingham, but briefly."

Buckingham, not a little surprised, bowed and departed graciously to convey the bidding.

The Duchess lost herself again in thought. "His message may have import," she reflected. "Louis sends strange messengers ofttimes."

In the midst of her reverie, the tapestry at the door was again pushed back, cautiously this time, then eagerly. There entered the prettiest spark that ever graced a kingdom or trod a measure.

It was Nell, accoutred as a youth; and a bold play truly she was making. Her face revealed that she herself was none too sure of the outcome.

"By my troth," she thought, as she glanced uncomfortably about the great room, "I feel as though I were all breeches." She shivered. "It is such a little way through these braveries to me."

Her eyes turned involuntarily to the corner where Portsmouth sat, now dreaming of far-off France.

"The Duchess!" her lips breathed, almost aloud, in her excitement. "So you'd play hostess to his Majesty," she thought, "give a royal ball and leave poor Nelly home, would you?"

The Duchess was conscious only of a presence.

"_Garcon!_" she called, without looking up.

Nell jumped a foot.

"That shook me to the boots," she ejaculated, softly.

"_Garcon!_" again called the impatient Duchess.

"Madame," answered Nell, fearfully, the words seeming to stick in her fair throat, as she hastily removed her hat and bethought her that she must have a care or she would lose her head as well, by forgetting that she was an Irishman with a brogue.

"Who are you?" asked Portsmouth, haughtily, as, rising, with surprised eyes, she became aware of the presence of a stranger.

Indeed, it is not strange that she was surprised. The youth who stood before her was dressed from top to toe in gray--the silver-gray which lends a colour to the cheek and piquancy to the form. The dress was of the latest cut. The hat had the longest plume. The cloak hung gracefully save where the glistening sword broke its falling lines. The boots were neat, well rounded and well cut, encasing a jaunty leg. The dress was edged with silver.

Ah, the strange youth was a love, indeed, with his bright, sparkling eyes, his lips radiant with smiles, his curls falling to his shoulders.

"Well," stammered Nell, in awkward hesitation but in the richest brogue, as the Duchess repeated her inquiry, "I'm just I, madame."

The Duchess smiled despite herself.

"You're just you," she said. "That's very clear."

"Yes, that's very clear," reiterated Nell, still fearful of her ground.

"A modest masker, possibly," suggested Portsmouth, observing the youth's embarrassment and wishing to assist him.

"Yea, very modest," replied Nell, her speech still stumbling, "almost ashamed."

Portsmouth's eyes looked sharply at her.

"She suspects me," thought Nell, and her heart leaped into her throat. "I am lost--boots and all."

"Your name?" demanded the Duchess again, impatiently.

For the life of her Nell could not think of it.

"You see," she replied evasively, "I'm in London for the first time in my present self, madame, and--"

"Your name and mission, sir?" The tone was imperative.

Nell's wits returned to her.

"Beau Adair is my name," she stammered, "and your service my mission."

It was out, though it had like to have choked her, and Nell was more herself again. The worst she had feared was that the Duchess might discover her identity and so turn the tables and make her the laughing-stock at court. She grew, indeed, quite hopeful as she observed a kindly smile play upon the Duchess's lips and caught the observation: "Beau Adair! A pretty name, and quite a pretty fellow."

A smile of self-satisfaction and a low bow were Nell's reply.

"Vain coxcomb!" cried Portsmouth, reprovingly, though she was highly amused and even pleased with the strange youth's conceit.

"Nay; if I admire not myself," wistfully suggested Nell, in reply, with pretence of much modesty, "who will praise poor me in this great palace?"

"You are new at court?" asked Portsmouth, doubtingly.

"Quite new," asserted Nell, gaining confidence with each speech. "My London tailor made a man of me only to-day."

"A man of you only to-day!" cried the Duchess, in wonderment.

"He assured me, madame," Nell hastened to explain, "that the fashion makes the man. He did not like my former fashion. It hid too much that was good, he said. I am the bearer of this letter to the great Duchess of Portsmouth; that you are she, I know by your royalty."

She bowed with a jaunty, boyish bow, sweeping the floor with her plumed hat, as she offered the letter.

"Oh, you are the gentleman," said Portsmouth, recalling her request to Buckingham, which for the instant had quite escaped her. She took the letter and broke the seal eagerly.

"She does not suspect," thought Nell; and she crossed quickly to the curtained arch, leading to the music and the dancing, in the hope that she might see the King.

Portsmouth, who was absorbed in the letter, did not observe her.

"From Rochet! Dear Rochet!" mused the Duchess, as she read aloud the lines: "'The bearer of this letter is a young gallant, very modest and very little versed in the sins of court.'"

"Very little," muttered Nell, with a mischievous wink, still intent upon the whereabouts and doings of the King.

"'He is of excellent birth,'" continued the Duchess, reading, "'brave, young and to be trusted--_to be trusted_. I commend him to your kindness, protection and service, during his stay in town.'"

She reflected a moment intently upon the letter, then looked up quickly. Nell returned, somewhat confused, to her side.

"This is a very strong letter, sir," said Portsmouth, with an inquiring look.

"Yes, very strong," promptly acquiesced Nell; and she chuckled as she recalled that she had written it herself, taking near a fortnight in the composition. Her fingers ached at the memory.

"Where did you leave Rochet?" inquired the Duchess, almost incredulously.

"Leave Rochet?" thought Nell, aghast. "I knew she would ask me something like that."

There was a moment's awkwardness--Nell was on difficult ground. She feared lest she might make a misstep which would reveal her identity. The Duchess grew impatient. Finally, Nell mustered courage and made a bold play for it, as ever true to her brogue.

"Where did I leave Rochet?" she said, as if she had but then realized the Duchess's meaning, then boldly answered: "In Cork."

"In Cork!" cried Portsmouth, in blank surprise. "I thought his mission took him to Dublin." She eyed the youth closely and wondered if he really knew the mission.

"Nay; Cork!" firmly repeated Nell; for she dared not retract, lest she awaken suspicion. "I am quite sure it was Cork I left him in."

"Quite sure?" exclaimed the Duchess, her astonishment increasing with each confused reply.

"Well, you see, Duchess," said Nell, "we had an adventure. It was dark; and we were more solicitous to know whither the way than whence."

The Duchess broke into a merry laugh. The youth had captured her, with his wistful, Irish eyes, his brogue and his roguish ways.

"We give a ball to-night," she said, gaily. "You shall stay and see the King."

"The King!" cried Nell, feigning fright. "I should tremble so to see the King."

"You need not fear," laughed the hostess. "He will not know you."

"I trust not, truly," sighed Nell, with much meaning, as she scanned her scanty masculine attire.

"Take my mask," said the Duchess, graciously. "As hostess, I cannot wear it."

Nell seized it eagerly. She would be safe with this little band of black across her eyes. Even the King would not know her.

"I shall feel more comfortable behind this," she said, naively.

"Did you ever mask?" inquired Portsmouth, gaily.