as the King loved
and such as he hoped to put before His Majesty at supper presently. Then
His Majesty asked whence it came, and Mr Darrell answered that he was
indebted for it to his good friend Mr Simon Dale, who would be honoured
by the King's drinking it."

"Why, it's my own wine then!" I cried, smiling now.

"He spoke the truth, did he?" pursued M. de Perrencourt composedly. "It
is your wine, sent by you to Mr Darrell?"

"Even so, sir," I answered. "Mr. Darrell's wine was out, and I sent him
some bottles of wine by his servant."

"You knew for what he needed it?"

I had forgotten for the moment what Robert said, and hesitated in my
answer. M. de Perrencourt looked intently at me.

"I think," said I, "that Robert told me Mr Darrell expected the King to
sup with him."

"He told you that?" he asked sharply.

"Yes, I remember that," said I, now thoroughly bewildered by the history
and the catechism which seemed necessary to an act so simple as drinking
a glass of my own wine.

M. de Perrencourt said nothing more, but his eyes were still set on my
face with a puzzled searching expression. His glance confused me, and I
looked round the table. Often at such moments the merest trifles catch
our attention, and now for the first time I observed that a little of
the wine had been spilt on the polished oak of the table; where it had
fallen the bright surface seemed rusted to dull brown. I noticed the
change, and wondered for an idle second how it came that wine turned a
polished table dull. The thing was driven from my head the next moment
by a brief and harsh order from the King.

"Drink, sir, drink."

Strained with excitement, I started at the order, and slopped some of
the wine from the cup on my hand. I felt a strange burning where it
fell; but again the King cried, "Drink, sir."

I hesitated no more. Recalling my wandering wits and determining to play
my part in the comedy, whatever it might mean, I bowed, cried "God save
your Majesty," and raised the cup to my lips. As it touched them, I saw
Madame hide her eyes with her hand and M. de Perrencourt lean farther
across the table, while a short quick gasp of breath came from where
Darrell stood by my side.

I knew how to take off a bumper of wine. No sippings and swallowings for
me! I laid my tongue well down in the bottom of my mouth that the liquor
might have fair passage to my gullet, and threw my head back as you see
a hen do (in thanks to heaven, they