"By His Majesty's permission I will drain this cup to the honour of the fairest and most illustrious Princess, Madame the Duchess of Orleans."
The Duchess half-rose from her seat, crying in a loud whisper, "Not to me, no, no! I can't have him drink it to me."
The King still held her hand.
"Drink it to me, Mr Dale," said he.
I bowed to him and put the cup to my lips. I was in the act to drink, when M. de Perrencourt spoke.
"A moment, sir," he said calmly. "Have I the King's permission to tell Mr Dale a secret concerning this wine?"
The Duke of York looked up with a frown, the King turned to M. de Perrencourt as if in doubt, the Frenchman met his glance and nodded.
"M. de Perrencourt is our guest," said the King. "He must do as he will."
M. de Perrencourt, having thus obtained permission (when was his will denied him?), leant one hand on the table and, bending across towards me, said in slow, calm, yet impressive tones:
"The King, sir, was wearied with business and parched with talking; of his goodness he detected in me the same condition. So he bade my good friend and his good subject Mr Darrell furnish him with a bottle of wine, and Mr Darrell brought a bottle, saying that the King's cellar was shut and the cellarman in bed, but praying the King to honour him by drinking his wine, which was good French wine, such 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."