I have heard it said that King Charles laughed most heartily when he learnt how a certain gentleman had tricked M. de Perrencourt and carried off from his clutches the lady who should have gone to prepare for the Duchess of York's visit to the Court of France. "This Uriah will not be set in the forefront of the battle," said he, "and therefore David can't have his way." He would have laughed, I think, even although my action had thwarted his own schemes, but the truth is that he had so wrought on that same devotion to her religion which, according to Mistress Nell, inspired Mlle. de Quérouaille that by the time the news came from Calais he had little doubt of success for himself although his friend M. de Perrencourt had been baffled. He had made his treaty, he had got his money, and the lady, if she would not stay, yet promised to return. The King then was well content, and found perhaps some sly satisfaction in the defeat of the great Prince whose majesty and dignity made any reverse which befell him an amusement to less potent persons. In any case the King laughed, then grew grave for a moment while he declared that his best efforts should not be wanting to reclaim Mistress Quinton to a sense of her duty, and then laughed again. Yet he set about reclaiming her, although with no great energy or fierceness; and when he heard that Monmouth had other views of the lady's duty, he shrugged his shoulders, saying, "Nay, if there be two Davids, I'll wager a crown on Uriah." It is easy to follow a man to the door of a house, but if the door be shut after him and the pursuer not invited to enter, he can but stay outside. So it fell out with me, and being outside I did not know what passed within nor how my Lord Carford fared with Mistress Barbara. I flung myself in deep chagrin on the grass of the Manor Park, cursing my fate, myself, and if not Barbara, yet that perversity which was in all women and, by logic, even in Mistress Barbara. But although I had no part in it, the play went on and how it proceeded I learnt afterwards; let me now leave the stage that I have held too long and pass out of sight till my cue calls me again.