“Why, then,” said the King, shortly, “there is no more to be said.”
He rose and looked a second keenly at Jeanne. Then, upon one of those generous impulses which none could carry more gracefully into effect than himself:—
“You lost your wager to me, my lord, with all the gallantry I expected of so good a cavalier. But, Odd’s fish! I do not carry away altogether a clear conscience on the subject. If you have lost in the letter, it strikes me you have won in the spirit. I will take it, if you please, that we have both won; I will indite forthwith an order on the exchequer for those greedy yeomen of yours who contrive to be always under arrears of pay.… Though, upon my life, Rockhurst, you and your fellows put me in mind of those callow birds we used to watch, in our wandering days: it boots little how big the last mouthful—ever a squawk for more!”
Rockhurst folded his lips upon the obvious retort. He took the sheet from the King’s hand with an air of profound obligation:—
“Your Majesty’s veterans will be deeply gratified.”
But already Charles was weary of the subject, weary of his present company.
“Madame,” he said, bowing toward Jeanne as he hastily got up, “we shall importune you no longer with our presence.”
The little Frenchwoman understood very well that in these words all royal pretensions to her favour were finally abandoned, and, in her infatuation for Rockhurst, cared as little for the fact as for the furious look cast upon her afresh by Enguerrand.
“Come, Vidame,” said the King. Then he added, with a malicious gesture that pointed from Jeanne to Rockhurst, “Come, you are as much out of place in this atmosphere of virtue as ourself!”