"Speak, sir," he commanded harshly and curtly.
"You told me," said I in low tones, "that the King left you. And I said I was no King, but that you need not be left alone." My eyes fell to the ground in pretended fear.
The swiftest glance from Nell applauded me. I would have been sorry for him and ashamed for myself, had I not remembered M. de Perrencourt and our voyage to Calais. In that thought I steeled myself to hardness and bade conscience be still.
A long silence followed. Then the King drew near to Nell. With a rare stroke of skill she seemed to shrink away from him and edged towards me, as though she would take refuge in my arms from his anger or his coldness.
"Come, I've never hurt you, Nelly!" said he.
Alas, that art should outstrip nature! Never have I seen portrayed so finely the resentment of a love that, however greatly wounded, is still love, that even in turning away longs to turn back, that calls even in forbidding, and in refusing breathes the longing to assent. Her feet still came towards me, but her eyes were on the King.
"You sent me away," she whispered as she moved towards me and looked where the King was.
"I was in a temper," said he. Then he turned to me, saying "Pray leave us, sir."
I take it that I must have obeyed, but Nell sprang suddenly forward, caught my hand, and holding it faced the King.
"He shan't go; or, if you send him away, I'll go with him."