(of which, said she, all London had been
talking a little while back) was the first shot from her battery. The
mention of the Duke's name brought a blush and a mischievous smile, as
she answered:

"Shouldn't I make a fine Duchess, Mr Dale?"

"Ay, if he made you one," said I with gloomy bluntness.

"You insult me, sir," she cried, and the flush on her face deepened.

"Then I do in few words what his Grace does in many," I retorted.

I went about it like a dolt, I do not doubt. For she flew out at me,
demanding in what esteem I held her, and in what her birth fell short of
Anne Hyde's--"who is now Duchess of York, and in whose service I have
the honour to be."

"Is that your pattern?" I asked. "Will the King interpose for you as he
did for the daughter of Lord Clarendon?"

She tossed her head, answering:

"Perhaps so much interference will not be needed."

"And does my Lord Carford share these plans of yours?" I asked with a
sneer.

The question touched her; she flushed again, but gave way not an inch.

"Lord Carford has done me much honour, as you know," said she, "but he
wouldn't stand in my way here."

"Indeed he doesn't!" I cried. "Nor in his Grace's!"

"Have you done, sir?" says she most scornfully.

"I have done, madame," said I, and on she swept.

"Yet you shall come to no harm," I added to myself as I watched her
proud free steps carry her away. She also, it seemed, had her dream; I
hoped that no more than hurt pride and a heart for the moment sore would
come of it. Yet if the flatteries of princes pleased, she was to be
better pleased soon, and the Duke of Monmouth seem scarcely higher to
her than Simon Dale.

Then came Madame in the morning from Dunkirk, escorted by the
Vice-Admiral, and met above a mile from the coast by the King in his
barge; the Duke of York, Prince Rupert, and my Duke (on whom, I
attended) accompanying His Majesty. Madame seemed scarcely as beautiful
as I had heard, although of a very high air and most admirable carriage
and address; and my eyes, prone, I must confess, to seek the fairest
face, wandered from hers to a lady who stood near, gifted with a
delicate and alluring, yet childish, beauty, who gazed on the gay scene
with innocent interest and a fresh enjoyment. Madame, having embraced
her kinsmen, presented the lady to His Majesty by the name of
Mademoiselle Louise Renee de Perrencourt de Querouaille (the name was
much shortened by our common folk in later days),