Yet he was the most picturesque figure in Paris. The young King Louis delighted in his society. Mazarin was his friend, and not only the English Court in exile, but also the French Court paid him the most extraordinary attentions. His striking personality, his barbaric retinue of black servants, his supposed wealth, the whispers of his skill in necromancy, were added to a military and naval reputation every one seemed desirous to embellish. Many great ladies were deeply in love with him, but their perfumed billet-doux touched neither his heart nor his vanity. He loved Matilda. All the glory and the sorrow of his youth were in that love, and as he knelt at her feet in his princely, soldierly splendour, there was nothing lacking in the picture of romantic devotion. "Adorable, ravishing Mata!" he cried, "at your feet I am paid for my life’s misery." And Matilda leaned towards him till their handsome faces touched, and Rupert could look love into her eyes, soft and languishing with an equal affection. "How tall you have grown. You have the stature of a goddess," he cried with rapture; and then in a tone full of seriousness he added, "You are my mate. You are the only woman I can ever love. I vow that you shall be my princess, or I will die unmarried for your sake." For a little while their conversation was purely personal, but their own interests were so blent with public affairs that it was not possible to separate them for any length of time. "We have sold all our cargoes," he said triumphantly, "in spite of old Cromwell’s remonstrances. Mazarin helped us, and the money is distributed. What can Cromwell do? Will he go to war with France for a merchant’s bill of lading? The King and the Cardinal laugh at his demands. He is an insolent fellow. Does he think he can match his Eminence? But, this or that, the money is scattered to the four quarters of the world. Let him recover it." "I will tell you something, Rupert. I had a letter to-day from my friend, Mistress Jane Swaffham. She says her lover, Lord Cluny Neville, must be in Paris about this time, and that he will call on me. He is on Cromwell’s business; there is no doubt of it." "Do you wish to see the man?" "No. He has stolen my brother’s mistress. He has done Stephen a great wrong; and he is also full of perfections. A very sufficient youth in his own opinion, and much honoured and trusted by his Excellency, the Lord General Cromwell." She spoke with evident scorn, and Rupert said, "I shall have to reckon with him. Stephen’s wrongs are my wrongs. Is the lady fair and rich?" "’Tis thought so. I once loved her." "And now, you love her not; eh, sweetheart?" "There is Cromwell between us—and Neville." "What is the appearance of Neville? I think I saw him this morning."