The chairmen withdrew quietly, but within convenient distance, to await her bidding.
Strings’s heart quite stopped beating. “The Duchess of Portsmouth at Mistress Nell’s!” he said, almost aloud in his excitement. “Then the devil must be to pay!” and he slipped well behind the oak-trunk again.
Portsmouth’s eyes snapped with French fire as she glanced up at Nell’s terrace. Then she turned to the page by her side. “His Majesty came this path before?” she asked, with quick, French accent.
“Yes, your grace,” replied the page.
“And up this trellis?”
“Yes, your grace.”
“Again to-night?”
“I cannot tell, your grace,” replied the lad. “I followed as you bade me; but the King’s legs were so long, you see, I lost him.”
Portsmouth smiled. “Softly, pretty one,” she said. “Watch if he comes and warn me; for we may have passed him.”
The lad ran gaily down the path to perform her bidding.