en he
added, "You'll keep your promise to me?"

"Your Grace may depend on me."

"Though in truth I may tell you that the whole affair is nothing; it's
no more than a matter of gallantry, eh, Carford?"

"No more," said my Lord Carford.

"But such matters are best not talked of."

I bowed as he dismissed me, and pursued my way to my room. A matter of
gallantry might, it seemed, be of moment to the messengers of the King
of France. I did not know what to make of the mystery, but I knew there
was a mystery.

"And it turns," said I to myself, "on those little words '_Il vient_.'
Who is he? Where comes he? And to what end? Perhaps I shall learn these
things at Dover."

There is this to be said. A man's heart aches less when his head is
full. On that night I did not sigh above half my usual measure.

CHAPTER XI

THE GENTLEMAN FROM CALAIS

Good fortune and bad had combined to make me somewhat more of a figure
in the eyes of the Court than was warranted by my abilities or my
station. The friend of Mistress Gwyn and the favourite of the Duke of
Monmouth (for this latter title his Grace's signal kindness soon
extorted from the amused and the envious) was a man whom great folk
recognised, and to whom small folk paid civility. Lord Carford had
become again all smiles and courtesy; Darrell, who arrived in the
Secretary's train, compensated in cordiality for what he lacked in
confidence; my Lord Arlington himself presented me in most flattering
terms to the French King's envoy, M. Colbert de Croissy, who, in his
turn, greeted me with a warmth and regarded me with a curiosity that
produced equal gratification and bewilderment in my mind. Finally, the
Duke of Monmouth insisted on having me with him in the Castle, though
the greater part of the gentlemen attached to the Royal and noble
persons were sent to lodge in the town for want of accommodation within
the walls. My private distress, from which I recovered but slowly, or,
to speak more properly, suppressed with difficulty, served to prevent me
from becoming puffed up with the conceit which this success might well
have inspired.

The first part of Betty Nasroth's prophecy now stood fulfilled, ay, as I
trusted, utterly finished and accomplished; the rest tarried. I had
guessed that there was a secret, what it was remained unknown to me and,
as I soon suspected, to people more important. The interval before the
arrival of the Duchess of Orleans was occupied in man