"And invites you _not_" said the King, "and so outwits you."
"By her porters' wits and not her own," retorted Nell.
She threw herself into a chair and became oblivious for the moment of her surroundings.
"The French hussy! So she gives a ball?" she thought. "Well, well, I'll be there! I'll teach her much. Oh, I'll be pretty, too, aye, very pretty. No fear yet of rivalry or harm for England."
Charles watched her amusedly, earnestly, lovingly. The vixen had fallen unconsciously into imitating again the Duchess's foreign ways, as an accompaniment even for her thoughts.
"_Sans doute_, we shall, _madame_" Nell muttered audibly, with much gesticulating and a mocking accent. "_À mon bal! Pas adieu, mais au revoir_."
"Are you ill," he asked, "that you do mutter so and wildly act?"
"I was only thinking that, if I were a man," she said, turning toward him playfully, "I would love your Duchess to devotion. Her wit is so original, her repartee so sturdy. Your Majesty's taste in horses--and some women--is excellent."
She crossed the room gaily and threw herself laughing upon the bench. The King followed her.
"Heaven help the being, naughty Nell," he said, "who offends thy merry tongue; but I love thee for it." He sat down beside her in earnest adoration, then caught her lovingly in his arms.
"Love me?" sighed Nell, scarce mindful of the embrace. "Ah, Sire, I am but a plaything for the King at best, a caprice, a fancy--naught else."
"Nay, sweet," said Charles, "you have not read this heart."
"I have read it too deeply," replied Nell, with much meaning in her voice. "It is this one to-day, that one to-morrow, with King Charles. Ah, Sire, your love for the poor player-girl is summed up in three little words: 'I amuse you!'"
"Amuse me!" exclaimed Charles, thoughtfully. "Hark ye, Nell! States may marry us; they cannot make us love. Ye Gods, the humblest peasant in my realm is monarch of a heart of his own choice. Would I were such a king!"
"What buxom country lass," asked Nell, sadly but wistfully, "teaches your fancy to follow the plough, my truant master?"
"You forget: I too," continued Charles, "have been an outcast, like Orange Nell, seeking a crust and bed."
He arose and turned away sadly to suppress his emotion. He was not the King of England now: he was a man who had suffered; he was a man among men.