Then Captain Bettina resumed her seat on the stern thwart, and we dipped our oars.

We were turning about to get under way again, when De Grammont cried out:--

"Mon Dieu! They are lost! There they go under! Ah, Jesu!"

We all turned our eyes toward the Bridge, but were too late to see the barge. It had sunk in four fathoms of water, and every man aboard had gone down with it.

We backed water, resting on our oars, and presently the overturned barge came to the surface and floated past us, telling its sad story, "Perished in a bad king's bad cause,"--a story written on almost every page of the world's history.

A short distance below the Tower, we met a large boat belonging to the ship in which George had come from France, which was waiting off Sheerness to take him back. The boat had been plying between Deptford and the Bridge, looking for George, since early evening. We recognized it by its long sweeps, and when we hailed it, we received the pa.s.sword and drew alongside.

All this time Frances had been allowed to sit in the bottom of the boat, she having a.s.sured us that she had taken no injury, but as we approached the French boat she arose, and when I asked her if she was hurt, she said, "No."

When I asked her if she had the treaty, she replied, holding out her hand to George:--

"Yes, here it is. It would have been a pity, indeed, to have lost it after all our trouble."

As we drew alongside the French boat, Hamilton whispered to Frances:--

"You have nothing to fear from the king. This affair shows him in a light so ridiculous that he will not care to make it public, and besides, he will not want to return the hundred thousand pounds. You will be safe in London, and I shall write to you just as soon as I return to France. If King Louis's reward proves to be what I expect, I pray you come to me, for, after this affair, I dare not set my foot in England."

At that moment we touched the other boat, and the Frenchmen grappled us to hold us alongside. George had risen and was about to step aboard, when Frances, catching him by the arm, drew him back and sprang aboard the French boat ahead of him, saying:--

"I shall not wait for a letter. I am going with you now."

George followed her into the other boat, and as it drew away, I saw him bending low to kiss her hand. Then he shouted "Good-by!" and soon we could see nothing but the black water between us.

Betty began to weep, and after a moment I began to swear, for I did not like to see my cousin go off in this manner. De Grammont relieved his mind by a shrug of his shoulders, took the oar that George had abandoned, and without a word we started up-stream again.

CHAPTER XIV

HER LADYSHIP'S SMILE

We landed at the Old Swan stairs below the Bridge on Lower Thames Street, and went to the end of the Bridge, where De Grammont waited till I had taken Bettina home.

When I returned to the Bridge, the count and I took coach, and after a rapid journey across silent London, I arrived at the palace just as Old Tom of Westminster was striking eleven.

I climbed over the porch to my closet and reached there none too soon, for I was hardly in bed when my door opened and in walked the king followed by two men bearing candles. I pretended to be in a deep sleep and when aroused sprang from my bed seemingly half dazed and ready to defend myself, till the king spoke, when, of course, I was humble enough.

"How long have you been here?" demanded the king.

"All night I suppose, your Majesty; what time is it now?"

"Past eleven!" the king answered.

"In what may I serve your Majesty?" I asked.

"By telling me the truth!" he said, glaring at me and whining out his words. "Do you know anything about the attack on my closet this evening?"

Nothing is ever gained by denying, so I took a leaf from woman's logic, and answered his question by another.

"An attack on your Majesty's closet?" I cried. Then after a long pause, and with a manner of deep injury, I demanded: "Has anything untoward befallen my cousin? I carried out your Majesty's instructions without objection or protest. I intrusted her to your care, and it is my right and my duty to demand an account of her and to hold your Majesty responsible for her welfare."

He looked at me for a moment with a hang-dog expression on his face, but he could not stand my gaze, so he turned on his heel and left the room without another word.

He was not convinced of my guilt, nor would he believe me innocent.

Evidently the royal verdict was "not proven." But in any case I knew that my favor at court was at an end.

During the next week I constantly importuned the king to tell me what had become of my cousin, and intimated my intention to make trouble in terms so plain--for I knew the king's favor was lost to me--that my Lord Clarendon was instructed to offer me a sum of money to say nothing more about the matter. I agreed to accept the money, it was paid, and I remained silent.

Frequently the difference between an acted lie and a spoken lie is the difference between success and failure. Then, too, the acted lie has this advantage; there is no commandment against it. We should congratulate ourselves that so many pleasant sins were omitted on Sinai.

At the end of a week after our great adventure I went to the country, and within a fortnight returned to find that my place in the Wardrobe was taken by another, and my place in the king's smile by the world at large; at least, it was lost to me.

When a wise courtier loses his king's smile, he takes himself out of his king's reach. Therefore I cast about in my mind for a London friend who would like to possess my t.i.tle. I thought of Sir William Wentworth, rather of his wife, and suggested to her that for the sum of thirty thousand pounds I would resign my estates and t.i.tle to the king, if Sir William would arrange for their transfer to himself. The transfer directly from me to him was not within the limits of the law. It could only be made through the king by forfeiture and grant. But the like had happened many times before, and could be accomplished now if the king were compensated for his trouble.

Wentworth broached the subject to our august sovereign who, in consideration of the sum of ten thousand pounds "lent" by Sir William to his Majesty, and because he was glad to conciliate a prominent citizen of London, that city being very angry on account of the sale of Dunkirk, agreed to the transfer, and the baronetcy of Clyde with the appurtenant estates pa.s.sed to the house of Wentworth, where, probably, they brought trouble to Sir William and joyous discontent to his aspiring lady.

Aside from the fact that I knew the king's ill temper was c.u.mulative, I had received a hint, coming through Castlemain's maid to Rochester, that if I remained in England, the king would despoil me. Then, too, I had other reasons for making the sale. I was sick of England's fawning on a poor weak creature, as cowardly as he was dull, and almost as dull as he was vicious, and longed to flee to the despotism of strength as I should find it in France under Louis XIV. There was still another reason, of which I shall speak later.

Three days after the consummation of my sale to Sir William Wentworth, Count Hamilton returned, and, learning of the manner in which I had disgraced myself, withdrew his challenge, sending De Grammont to tell me the sad news. He would not honor me by killing me.

"Why did you sell your t.i.tle and estates?" asked De Grammont.

"I have several good reasons, my dear count," I answered. "The first is that I should have lost them had I not sold them. While the king does not know that I was connected with the fight on the privy stairs, he doubtless suspected it, for I have lived in the royal frown ever since. The second reason is that I hate Charles Stuart, and, admiring at least the strength of your king's tyranny, desire to live in France. King Louis says he is the state, and by heaven, he is! Charles Stuart knows that he is nothing, and he is right!"

"Give me your hand, baron!" cried De Grammont, a smile of satisfaction spreading over his face. "I now tell you my secret. No one else knows it.

The purchase of Dunkirk has bought for me the smile of my master. I have been recalled to Versailles. I return to La Belle France within a fortnight! Come with me! I'll show you a king in very deed, and promise furthermore that his smile shall be for you!"

"I can't go with you, my dear count," I returned gratefully. "But I promise to see you soon in Paris. I suppose you will take with you the elder Mistress Hamilton, to whom I understand you have long been plighted in marriage, or will you return for her?"

"O-o-oh! Return for her, dear baron, return for her!" answered the count, shrugging his shoulders.

To close the chapter of De Grammont's life in England, I would say that he kept the secret of his recall to France, and one night after dark left his house near the Mall, taking a coach to Dover without saying to Mistress Hamilton when he would return.

But Mistress Hamilton had two brothers still in England, Count Anthony and James, who, catching wind of De Grammont's exodus, took horse and a small escort, made all possible speed, and came up with De Grammont's coach some six or eight leagues east of London.

Count Anthony rode up to one door of the coach, while James brought his horse to the other.

"Good morning, count," said Anthony, bending down to the coach window.

"Good morning, my dear count," returned De Grammont, blandly.

"Is there not something you have forgotten, count?" asked Anthony.