“Aye,” said the King, cynically. His narrow, dark eye roamed a moment about the room, then rested reflectively upon the fair mask of Enguerrand’s face. The boy turned quickly. Charles raised a beckoning hand.
“Vidame,” said the King, “a word in the hollow of your ear!”
The two drew apart, while Rockhurst moved away to the door to await the King’s pleasure. Charles rejoined him, laughing.
“Faith, if I had such subjects as my cousin Louis, I should be well served. Yes, ’tis your French finger you want for true lightness of touch. My honest Britons are all thumbs. The pretty singer’s brother.… Her own brother, no less! ’Tis a positive little Satan!”
“Aye,” assented Rockhurst, briefly.
The two went down the corridor in silence; then Rockhurst spoke with some abruptness.
“Your Majesty,” said he, “has before this, I think, found it add to his interest in … bird-catching that he should not be the only fowler in the field.”
“How now?” said Charles, halting. The group of attendant pages halted likewise at the end of the gallery.
“I have thought,” said Rockhurst, steadily, “I, also, that I should like that linnet to sing to me.”