We'll see to't."

He had assumed a certain supervision of the palace for the night. With
the player as a body-guard, he accordingly made a hasty exit.

CHAPTER XII

_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