The Duchess turned upon him impatiently. The black lines faded slowly from her face; but they still were there, beneath the beauty-lines.
“My servants have watched her house without avail,” she sneered. “Your plan is useless; my plan will work.”
“Stay!” pleaded Buckingham, still fearful. “We can ourselves entice some adventurous spirit up Nell’s terrace, then trap him. So our end is reached.”
“Aye,” replied the Duchess, in milder mood, realizing that she had been over-hasty at least in speech, “the minx presumes to love the King, and so is honest! But of her later. The treaties! He shall sign to-night–to-night, I say.”
With a triumphant air, she pointed to the quills and sand upon a table in readiness for his signing.
Buckingham smiled approvingly; and in his smile lurked flattery so adroit that it pleased the Duchess despite herself.
“Lord Hyde, St. Albans and the rest,” said he, “are here to aid the cause.”
“Bah!” answered Portsmouth, with a shrug. “In the field, men; at court, women! This girl has outwitted you all. I must accomplish my mission alone. Charles must be Louis’s pensioner in full; England the slave of France! My fortune–Le Grand Roi’s regard–hang upon it.”
Buckingham cautioned her with a startled gesture.
“Nay,” smiled Portsmouth, complacently, “I may speak frankly, my lord; for your head is on the same block still with mine.”