Basilea admitted herself defeated. She was a little chagrined at the thought of the lame report she would have to give M. D’Avaux, but she could press no more, especially as she had an uneasy feeling that the Princess thought the less of her for the errand she had come upon. She left talk of politics, and Mary accompanied her with easy courtesy to the front of the villa, where her hired chariot waited with her maid yawning herself to death over an old-fashioned romance by Mademoiselle de Scudery, which she had found in the inn parlour. The sky was paling and flushing behind the great avenue of trees rich in their full leafage, and the rooks were noisy in the branches. "This is a pretty spot, Highness," said Basilea, on the impulse of the moment. Mary smiled. Two men were mounting the few wide entrance steps. Basilea noticed them, because one was the red-breeched sailor whom she had seen yesterday beneath her window, the other was a slight gentleman in a circular mantle turned up over one shoulder, wearing riding boats and carrying a whip; Basilea saw his horse being led off by a bareheaded groom. She could not restrain her curiosity at seeing the seaman entering the Prince’s villa. "Doth Your Highness know that man?" she asked. Mary glanced at the two as she closed the gate in the garden wall. "Which?" she asked, smiling. "The English sailor——" "No; but he hath good credentials, for that is the Prince with him," said Mary quietly. Basilea was further surprised; she endeavoured to gain a closer view of the Stadtholder and his companion, but they had entered the house; she was satisfied, however, that she had something to tell M. D’Avaux. "You must not marvel at the companion of His Highness," continued the Princess; "there are many come here who are glad to wear disguises, owing to the rancour of the persecution of the Protestants in France." Basilea courtsied her leave. She was quite convinced that the seaman was not French nor on any message from France, and she was beginning to be convinced, too, that the Princess was marvellously changed and different, and that it would be well for neither Lady Sunderland nor M. D’Avaux to be too sure of her compliance. Mary allowed her to depart without that demonstration of kindness with which she had received her, and Basilea stepped into her chariot feeling disappointed and dissatisfied. Mary, still standing by the garden wall at the side of the house, watched the little coach swing out of sight down the long darkening drive, and when it was lost in the shadows ran lightly up the steps and in through the tall doors: there, in the light painted vestibule, she found the Prince and the English seaman conversing. She paused, flushed, and breathing in pants. The Prince took off his hat, and said— "This is the Princess, sir." The sailor turned quickly, and gave her a sharp look as he bowed. "This is Admiral Herbert, Madame," continued the Prince, "who is new come from England."