Perhaps some trace of this feeling appeared in my countenance; for, presently, the King, who seldom failed to read my thoughts, tried to check her in a good-natured fashion. "Come, my dear," he said; "let that trembling mouse go. And do you hear what our good friend Sully has brought you? I'll be bound--"

"How your Majesty talks!" the Queen answered, pettishly. "As if a few paltry coins could make up for my jar! I'll be bound, for my part, that this idle wench was romping and playing with--"

"Come, come; you have made her cry enough!" the King interrupted--and, indeed, the girl was sobbing so passionately that a man could not listen without pain. "Let her go, I say, and do you attend to Sully. You have forgotten that it is New Year's Day--"

"A jar of majolica," the Queen cried, Utterly disregarding him, "worth your body and soul, you little slut!"

"Do you think that I brought it from Florence, all the way in my own--"

"Nightcap," the King muttered. "There, there, sweetheart," he continued, aloud, "let the girl go!"

"Of course! She is a girl," the Queen cried, with a sneer. "That is enough for you!"

"Well, madam, she is not the only one in the room," I ventured.