The "pauvre enfant," a sly young wretch, smiled in return for her caresses, looking dark at his father. Young as he was, he knew what was meant, and took sides with his mother. She had already well indoctrinated him with the ideas of Divine Right, as understood by a Medici. "_Peste_!" exclaimed the King, looking vexed, possibly at the allusion to a successor; "were I to follow your counsels, Madam, it might result in my leaving him no crown at all." "Then leave him none!" she said in quick return, and with an air of jaunty indifference. "Perhaps better so. I, his mother, would rather see him a peasant than prince, with such a future as you are laying out for him." "Sire, the Earl of Strafford craves audience of your Majesty." This was said by a youth in the official costume of the Court, who had approached from the Palace, and stood with head bent before the King. A remarkably handsome young fellow he was, and the Queen, as she turned her eyes on him, seemed to recover sweetness of temper. "I suppose my company will be _de trop_ now," she said. Then facing towards the youth, and bestowing upon him one of her syren smiles--slyly though--she added, "Here, Eustace; bring this to my boudoir," and she handed him a large book, a _portfeuille_ of pictures, she had been all the while carrying. Whether the King caught sight of that smile, and read something wrong in it, or not, he certainly seemed irritated, hastily interposing-- "No, Henriette, I'd rather have you stay." "_Con tout plaisir_." A slight cloud upon her brow told the contrary. "Charles, too?" "No; he can go. Yes, Trevor. Conduct the Lord Strafford hither." Eustace Trevor, as the handsome youth was called, bowing, turned and went off, the Prince with him. Then said the King-- "I wish you to hear what Strafford has to say on the subject we've been talking of." "Just what I wish myself," she rejoined, resuming her air of _braverie_. "If you won't listen to me, a weak woman, perhaps you will to him, a man--_one of courage_." Charles writhed under her speech, the last words of it. Even without the emphasis on them, they were more than an insinuation that he himself lacked that quality men are so proud of, and women so much admire. Almost a direct imputation, as if she had called him "coward!" But there was no time for him to make retort, angry or otherwise, even had he dared. The man seeking audience was already in the garden, and within earshot. So, swallowing his chagrin as he best could, and putting on the semblance of placidity, the King in silence awaited his coming up.