"What a voice," reflected Nell, in her hiding-place, "in which to sigh, 'I love you.'"

"Barbarous place!" exclaimed Portsmouth. "His Majesty must have lost his wits."

She smiled complacently, however, as she reflected that the King might consent even within these walls and that his sign-manual, if so secured, would be as binding as if given in a palace.

"_Garcon!_" again she called, irritably.

Nell was meanwhile inspecting her rival from top to toe. Nothing escaped her quick eye. "I'll wager her complexion needs a veil," she muttered, with vixenish glee. "That gown is an insult to her native France."

"_Garcon_; answer me," commanded Portsmouth, fretfully.

The landlord had danced about her grace in such anxiety to please that he had displeased. He had not learned the courtier's art of being ever present, yet never in the way.

"Yes, your ladyship," he stupidly repeated again and again. "What would your ladyship?"

"Did a prince leave commands for supper?" she asked, impatiently.

"No, your ladyship," he replied, obsequiously. "A ragged rogue ordered a banquet and then ran away, your ladyship."

"How, sirrah?" she questioned, angrily, though the poor landlord had meant no discourtesy.

"If he knew his guests, he would ne'er return," softly laughed Nell.

"_Parbleu_," continued Portsmouth, in her French, impatient way, now quite incensed by the stupidity of the landlord, "a cavalier would meet me at Ye Blue Boar Inn; so said the messenger."

She suddenly caught sight of Nell, whose biting curiosity had led her from her hiding-place. "This is not the rendezvous," she reflected quickly. "We were to sup alone."

The landlord still bowed and still uttered the meaningless phrase: "Yes, your ladyship."

The d.u.c.h.ess was at the end of her patience. "_Mon Dieu_," she exclaimed, "do you know nothing, sirrah?"

The moon-face beamed. The head bowed and bowed and bowed; the hands were rubbed together graciously.

"Good lack, I know not; a supper for a king was ordered by a ragged Roundhead," he replied. "Here are two petticoats, your ladyship. When I know which petticoat is which petticoat, your ladyship, I will serve the dinner."

The tavern-keeper sidled toward the kitchen-door. As he went out, he muttered, judiciously low: "I wouldn't give a ha'penny for the choice."

"Beggar!" snapped Portsmouth. "Musty place, musty furniture, musty _garcon_, musty everything!"

She stood aloof in the centre of the room as if fearful lest she might be contaminated by her surroundings.

Nell approached her respectfully.

"You may like it better after supper, madame," she suggested, mildly. "A good spread, sparkling wine and most congenial company have cast a halo o'er more time-begrimed rafters than these."

"Who are you, madame?" inquired the d.u.c.h.ess, haughtily.

"A fellow-pa.s.senger on the earth," gently replied Nell, "and a lover of good company, and--some wine."

"Yes?" said the d.u.c.h.ess, in a way that only a woman can ask and answer a question with a "yes" and with a look such as only a woman can give another woman when she asks and answers that little question with a "yes."

There was a moment's pause.

The d.u.c.h.ess continued: "Perhaps you have seen the cavalier I await."

"Marry, not I," replied Nell, promptly; and she bethought her that she had kept a pretty sharp lookout for him, too.

"Is this a proper place for a lady to visit?" pompously inquired the d.u.c.h.ess.

"You raise the first doubt," said Nell quickly.

"Madame!" exclaimed Portsmouth, interrupting her, with fiery indignation.

"I say, you are the first to question the propriety of the place,"

explained Nell, apologetically, though she delighted inwardly at the intended shot which she had given her grace.

"I came by appointment," continued the d.u.c.h.ess; "but it seems I was misled. _Garcon_, my chair!"

The d.u.c.h.ess made a move toward the door, but Nell's words stopped her.

"Be patient, d.u.c.h.ess! He is too gallant to desert you."

"She knows me!" thought Portsmouth. She turned sharply upon the stranger. "I have not the pleasure of your acquaintance, madame."

"Such is my loss, not yours," replied Nell, suavely.

"Remove your veil," commanded the d.u.c.h.ess; and her eyes flashed through her own.

"I dare not before the beauty of Versailles," continued Nell, sweetly.

"Remove yours first. Then I may take mine off unseen."

"Do I know you?" suspiciously inquired Portsmouth.

"I fear not," said Nell, meekly, and she courtesied low. "I am but an humble player--called Nell Gwyn."

The d.u.c.h.ess raised herself to her full height.

"Nell Gwyn!" she hissed, and she fairly tore off her veil.

"Your grace's most humble servant," said Nell, again courtesying low and gracefully removing her veil.

"This is a trap," exclaimed the d.u.c.h.ess, as she realized the situation.

"Heaven bless the brain that set it then," sweetly suggested Nell.

"Your own, minx," snapped Portsmouth. "I'll not look at the hussy!" she muttered. She crossed the room and seated herself upon the bench, back to Nell.

"Your grace would be more kind if you knew my joy at seeing you."