She appeared at that time to be about thirty years old, though I think she was far beyond this; but she had a wonderfully childish face, very artfully painted and darkened by the eyes. I cannot deny, however, that she was very handsome indeed, and well set-off by her jewels and her silver-lace gown, cut very low so as to shew her dazzling skin. Her fingers too, when I kissed them, were but one mass of gems. Her first simplicity was gone, indeed.
I loathed this work that I was sent on; since it forced me to be civil to this spoiled creature, instead of, as I should have wished, naming her for what she was, to her face. However, that had been done pretty often by the mob; so I doubt if I could have told her anything she did not know already. Her voice was set very low and was a little rough; yet it was not ugly at all. She spoke in French; and so did I.
"Well, Mr. Mallock," she said, "I have company; but I did not wish to refuse another of His Royal Highness's ambassadors. What is the matter now, if you please?"
Now I knew that this kind of personage loved flattery—for it was nothing but this that had ruined her—and that it could scarcely be too thick: so I framed my first sentences in that key: for, after all, my first business was to please her.
"His Royal Highness is desolated, madam," I said, "because he thinks he has displeased you."
"Displeased me!" she cried. "Why, what talk is this of a Prince to a poor Frenchwoman?"
She smiled very unpleasantly as she said this; and nearly all the time I was with her, her eyes were running up and down my figure. I was wearing a good ring or two also, and my sword-hilt was very prettily set with diamonds; and she always had an eye for such things.
"There can be no talk of Prince and subject, madam," I said, "when Her
Grace of Portsmouth is in question."
She smiled once more; and I saw that she liked this kind of talk. So I gave her plenty of it.
"La! la!" she said. "This is very pretty talk. What is your business, sir, if you please?"