Again (for my curiosity would not be satisfied, nor the edge of my questioning be turned)--what had the Duke of Monmouth to gain from M. de Perrencourt? Something it seemed, or his conduct was most mysterious. He cared nothing for Mlle. de Quérouaille, and I could not suppose that the mere desire to please his father would have weighed with him so strongly as to make him to all appearance the humble servant of this French gentleman. The thing was brought home most forcibly to my mind on the third evening after M. de Perrencourt's arrival. A private conference was held and lasted some hours; outside the closed doors we all paced to and fro, hearing nothing save now and then Madame's clear voice, raised, as it seemed, in exhortation or persuasion. The Duke, who was glad enough to escape the tedium of State affairs but at the same time visibly annoyed at his exclusion, sauntered listlessly up and down, speaking to nobody. Perceiving that he did not desire my company, I withdrew to a distance, and, having seated myself in a retired corner, was soon lost in consideration of my own fortunes past and to come. The hour grew late; the gentlemen and ladies of the Court, having offered and accepted compliments and gallantries till invention and complaisance alike were exhausted, dropped off one by one, in search of supper, wine, or rest. I sat on in my corner. Nothing was to be heard save the occasional voices of the two musketeers on guard on the steps leading from the second storey of the keep to the State apartments. I knew that I must move soon, for at night the gate on the stairs was shut. It was another of the peculiar facts about M. de Perrencourt that he alone of the gentlemen-in-waiting had been lodged within the precincts of the royal quarters, occupying an apartment next to the Duke of York, who had his sister Madame for his neighbour on the other side. The prolonged conference was taking place in the King's cabinet farther along the passage. Suddenly I heard steps on the stairs, the word of the night was asked, and Monmouth's voice made answer "Saint Denis"; for just now everything was French in compliment to Madame. The steps continued to ascend; the light in the corridor was very dim, but a moment later I perceived Monmouth and Carford. Carford's arm was through his Grace's, and he seemed to be endeavouring to restrain him. Monmouth shook him off with a laugh and an oath. "I'm not going to listen," he cried. "Why should I listen? Do I want to hear the King praying to the Virgin?" "Silence, for God's sake, silence, your Grace," implored Carford. "That's what he does, isn't it? He, and the Queen's Chaplain, and the----" "Pray, sir!" "And our good M. de Perrencourt, then?" He burst into a bitter laugh as he mentioned the gentleman's name.