His first words disabused me. "May it please your excellency," he said, very civilly, "the King desires to be remembered to you as usual, and would ]earn whether you know anything of Mademoiselle D'Oyley."

"Of whom?" I cried, astonished.

"Of Mademoiselle D'Oyley, her Majesty's maid of honour."

"Not I, i'faith!" I said, drily. "I am no squire of dames, to say nothing of maids!"

"If he has sent that message," I replied, "has yet something to learn--that I do not interest myself in maids of honour or such frailties."

The man smiled. "I do not think," he began, "that it was his Majesty--"

"Sent the message?" I said. "No, but the Queen, I suppose."

On this he gave me to understand, in the sly, secretive manner such men affect, that it was so. I asked him then what all this ferment was about. "Has Mademoiselle D'Oyley disappeared?" I said, peevishly.