Fat and powdered fingers were covered with rings. Her corsage was jewelled—she was like some dreadful mummy of what youth had been, a sullen caricature of a long-past youth, when she also might have walked in the fields under God's sky, heard bird-music, and seen the dew upon the bracken at dawn.
Johnnie stirred and blinked at this apparition for a moment; then his natural courtesy and training came to him, and he bowed.
As he did so, the fat old woman threw out her jewelled arms, leant back in her chair, stuttering and choking with amusement.
"Tiens!" she said in French, "Monsieur qui arrive! Why have you never been to see me before, my dear?"
Johnnie said nothing at all. His head was bent a little forward. He was regarding this old French procuress with grave attention.
He knew now at once who she was. He had heard her name handed about the Court very often—Madame La Motte.
"You are a little out of my way, Madame," Johnnie answered. "I come not over Thames. You see, I am but newly arrived at the Court."
He said it perfectly politely, but with a little tiny, half-hidden sneer, which the woman was quick to notice.
"Ah! Monsieur," she said, "you are here on duty. Merci, that I know very well. Those for whom you have come will be down from above stairs very soon, and then you can go about your business. But you will take a glass of wine with me?"
"I shall be very glad, Madame," Johnnie answered, as he watched the fat, trembling hand, with all its winking jewels, pouring Vin de Burgogne into a glass. He raised it and bowed.