"Not for an instant do I doubt your lordship. Faith, I know His Christian Majesty hath no such friend as yourself in England—but I would impress on you the danger—things reach a crisis, my lord."
He bowed and returned to his companions, while the Earl passed through the galleries of Whitehall, filled with courtiers, newsmongers, place seekers, and politicians, and came out into the courtyard where his chair waited.
While his servant was fetching the sedan my lord put on his laced hat and lingered on the step.
A tall soldier was keeping the guard; my lord regarded him, smiled, and spoke.
"Fellow, who is your master?"
The man flushed, saluted, and stared awkwardly.
"Come," smiled the Earl whimsically. "Whom do you serve?"
The startled soldier answered stupidly—
"God and the King, your honour."
"Ah, very well," answered the Earl slowly; he descended the steps and took a pinch of snuff. "So do we all—it is merely a question of which God and which King."