But the elder man laughed. “Hoity-toity! Calm yourself, Uncle. What would you have? The King is at a safe distance, hiding in one of his northern hunting-boxes, sulking, and nursing his spleen, as is his wont. When the King’s away, the palace mice will play—at lèse majesté, the thrilling game. If you wish to stop them, persuade the King to come home and show his face. Otherwise, we’ll gather our rosebuds while we may; and I’m not the man to cross a red-haired woman.” “You’re the Constable of Bellefontaine,” retorted his friend, “and it’s your business to see that the King’s orders are respected.” “The King’s orders are so seldom respectable; and then, I’ve a grand talent for neglecting my business. I’m trying to elevate the Constableship of Bellefontaine into a sinecure,” the plump man explained genially. “But I’m pained to see that your sense of humour is not escaping the general decay of your faculties. What you need is a love-affair with a red-haired woman; and yonder’s a red-haired woman, dropped from the skies for your salvation. Go—engage her in talk—and fall in love with her. There’s a dear,” he pleaded. “Dropped from the skies,” the pale man repeated, with mild scorn. “As if I didn’t know my Hilary! Of course, you’ve had her up your sleeve the whole time.” “Upon my soul and honour, you are utterly mistaken. Upon my soul and honour, I’ve never set eyes on her before,” Hilary asseverated warmly. “Ah, well, if that’s the case,” suggested the pale man, turning back into the room, “let us make an earnest endeavour to talk of something else.” II The next afternoon they were walking in the park, at some distance from the palace, when they came to a bridge over a bit of artificial water; and there was the woman of yesterday, leaning on the parapet, throwing bread-crumbs to the carp. She looked up as they passed, and bowed, with a little smile, in acknowledgment of their raised hats. When they were out of earshot, “H’m,” muttered Hilary, “viewed at close quarters, she’s a trifle disenchanting.” “Oh?” questioned his friend. “I thought her very good-looking.” “She has too short a nose,” Hilary complained. “What’s the good of criticising particular features? The general effect of her face was highly pleasing. She looked intelligent, interesting; she looked as if she would have something to say,” the younger man insisted. “It’s very possible she has a tongue in her head,” admitted Hilary; “but we were judging her by the rules of beauty. For my fancy, she’s too tall.” “She’s tall, but she’s well-proportioned. Indeed, her figure struck me as exceptionally fine. There was something sumptuous and noble about it,” declared the other. “There are scores of women with fine figures in this world,” said Hilary. “But I’m sorely disappointed in her hair. Her hair is nothing like so red as I’d imagined.”