The king stopped before us for a moment, saying, "We have had a terrible storm, baron."
"Indeed we have, your Majesty," I answered, bowing, "though I have not so much as thrust my head out-of-doors save to go down to Sir Richard's yesterday evening to fetch Mistress Jennings home."
"Did she come—I mean, would she face the storm?" asked the king.
"No, no," answered Frances, laughing. "Why face the storm to return to Whitehall when the king was away? I remained with my father, and was so ill that a physician was called at seven o'clock."
"I hope you are well again," said the king.
"Not entirely. But now I shall be," she answered, laughing.
"You mean now that I am at home?" asked the king, shaking his head doubtfully.
"Yes, your Majesty."
"If your heart were as kind as your tongue, I should be a much happier man than I am."
His Majesty sighed as he turned away, and the expression on his face was as an open book to me, knowing as I did that he had just failed in perpetrating an act of villainy which would have hanged any other man in England.