He was dressed in white and gold; and a princely prince he looked, indeed, as the courtiers separated for him to pass out between them.
All followed save Buckingham, whom Portsmouth’s eye detained.
She broke into a joyous laugh as she turned from the tapestry-curtains, through which she could see his Majesty–the centre of a mirthful scene without.
“What say you now, my lord?” she asked, triumphantly, of Buckingham. “I am half avenged already, and the articles half signed. The King is here despite his Madame Gwyn, and in a playful mood that may be tuned to love.”
Buckingham’s ardour did not kindle as she hoped.
“Merriment is oft but Sadness’s mask, Louise,” he replied, thoughtfully.
“What meanest thou?” she asked, in her nervous, Gallic way, and as quickly, her mind anticipating, answered: “This trifle of the gossips that Charles advances the player’s whim to found a hospital at Chelsea, for broken-down old soldiers? Ce n’est rien!”
She broke into a mocking laugh.
“Aye!” replied Buckingham, quietly but significantly. “The orders are issued for its building and the people are cheering Nell throughout the realm.”
“Ma foi!” came from the Duchess’s contemptuous lips. “And what say the rabble of Portsmouth?”