explanation possible," I answered bluntly. "I had to combat
Madame's jealousy. I did it in the only way in which it could be done:
by stating that your niece loved your son, and by imploring her good
word on their behalf."

He sprang a pace from me with a cry of rage and astonishment. "You did
that?" he screamed.

"Softly, softly, M. de Perrot," I said, in a voice which brought him
somewhat to his senses. "Certainly I did. You bade me say whatever
was necessary, and I did so. No more. If you wish, however," I added
grimly, "to explain to Madame that--"

But with a wail of lamentation he rushed from me, and in a moment was
lost in the darkness; leaving me to smile at this odd termination of an
intrigue that, but for a lad's adroitness, might have altered the
fortunes not of M. de Perrot only but of the King my master and of
France.

II.

THE TENNIS BALLS.

A few weeks before the death of the Duchess of Beaufort, on Easter Eve,
1599, made so great a change in the relations of all at Court that
"Sourdis mourning" came to be a phrase for grief, genuine because
interested, an affair that might have had a serious issue began,
imperceptibly at the time, in the veriest trifle.

One day, while the King was still absent from Paris, I had a mind to
play tennis, and for that purpose summoned La Trape, who had the charge
of my balls, and sometimes, in the absence of better company, played
with me. Of late the balls he bought had given me small satisfaction,
and I bade him bring me the bag, that I might choose the best. He did
so, and I had not handled half-a-dozen before I found one, and later
three others, so much more neatly sewn than the rest, and in all points
so superior, that even an untrained eye could not fail to detect the
difference.

"Look, man!" I said, holding out one of these for his inspection.
"These are balls; the rest are rubbish. Cannot you see the difference?
Where did you buy these? At Constant's?"

He muttered, "No, my lord," and looked confused.

This roused my curiosity. "Where, then?" I said sharply.

"Of a man who was at the gate yesterday."

"Oh!" I said. "Selling tennis balls?"

"Yes, my lord."

"Some rogue of a marker," I exclaimed, "from whom you bought filched
goods! Who was it, man?"

"I don't know his name," La Trape answered. "He was a Spaniard."

"Well?"

"Who wanted to have an audience of your excellency."

"Ho!" I said drily. "Now I understand.