"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 Renée de Perrencourt de Quérouaille (the name was much shortened by our common folk in later days), and the King kissed her hand, saying that he was rejoiced to see her—as indeed he seemed to be, if a man might judge by the time he spent in looking at her, and the carelessness with which he greeted the others in attendance on Madame.
"And these are all who come with you, sister?" he asked.
She answered him clearly, almost loudly:
"Except a gentleman who is to join me from Calais to-morrow, with messages from the King."
I heard no more, being forced to move away and leave the royal group alone. I had closely examined all who came. For in the presence of Madame I read Je viens, in our King's, Tu viens; but I saw none whose coming would make the tidings Il vient worthy of a special messenger to London. But there was a gentleman to arrive from Calais. I had enough curiosity to ask M. le Comte d'Albon, who (with his wife) accompanied Madame and stood by me on deck as we returned to land, who this gentleman might be.
"He is called M. de Perrencourt," the Count replied, "and is related remotely to the lady whom you saw with Madame."
I was disappointed, or rather checked. Was M. de Perrencourt so important that they wrote Il vient about him and sent the tidings to London?