The fat landlord made a hasty exit, for him, toward the street, in his desire to help the great lady. Charles supported her to the threshold.
“Call a leech, Sire,” cried Nell after them, with mock sympathy. “Her grace has choked on a chicken-bone.”
“Be still, wench,” commanded the King. “Do not leave us, Louise; it breaks the sport.”
“Nay,” pleaded Nell also, “do not go because of this little merry-making, Duchess. I desire we may become better friends.”
Her voice revived the Duchess.
“Sans doute, we shall, madame,” Portsmouth replied, coldly. “À mon bal! Pas adieu, mais au revoir.”
The great Duchess courtesied low, kissed the King’s hand, arose to her full height and, with an eye-shot at Nell, took her departure.
CHAPTER X
Arrest him yourself!