Now although I had told Barbara that it was my intention to ask an audience from the King, I had not disclosed my purpose of seeing Mistress Nell. Yet it was firm in my mind--for courtesy's sake. Of a truth she had done me great service. Was I to take it as though it were my right, with never a word of thanks? Curiosity also drew me, and that attraction which she never lost for me, nor, as I believe, for any man whose path she crossed. I was sure of myself, and did not fear to go. Yet memory was not dead in me, and I went in a species of excitement, the ghost of old feelings dead but not forgotten. When a man has loved, and sees her whom he loves no more, he will not be indifferent; angry he may be, or scornful, amused he may be, and he should be tender; but it will not be as though he had not loved. Yet I had put a terrible affront on her, and it might be that she would not receive me. As I live, I believe that but for one thing she would not. That turned her, by its appeal to her humour. When I came to the house in Chelsea, I was conducted into a small ante-chamber, and there waited long. There were voices speaking in the next room, but I could not hear their speech. Yet I knew Nell's voice; it had for me always--ay, still--echoes of the past. But now there was something which barred its way to my heart. The door in front of me opened, and she was in the room with me. There she was, curtseying low in mock obeisance and smiling whimsically. "A bold man!" she cried. "What brings you here? Art not afraid?" "Afraid that I am not welcome, yet not afraid to come." "A taunt wrapped in civility! I do not love it." "Mistress Nell, I came to thank you for the greatest kindness----" "If it be kindness to help you to a fool!" said Mistress Nell. "What, besides your thanks to me, brings you to town?" I must forgive her the style in which she spoke of Barbara. I answered with a smile: "I must see the King. I don't know his purposes about me. Besides, I desire that he should help me to my--fool." "If you're wise you'll keep out of his sight." Then she began to laugh. "Nay, but I don't know," said she. Then with a swift movement she was by me, catching at my coat and turning up to me a face full of merriment. "Shall we play a comedy?" she asked. "As you will. What shall be my part?" "I'll give you a pretty part, Simon. Your face is very smooth; nay, do not fear, I remember so well that I needn't try again. You shall be this French lady of whom they speak." "I the French lady! God forbid!" "Nay, but you shall, Simon. And I'll be the King. Nay, I say, don't be afraid. I swear you tried to run away then!" "Is it not prescribed as the best cure for temptation?" "Alas, you're not tempted!" she said with a pout. "But there's another part in the comedy." "Besides the King and Mademoiselle?" "Why, yes--and a great part." "Myself by chance?" "You! No! What should you do in the play? It is I--I myself." "True, true. I forgot you, Mistress Nell."