One of the visitors appeared to take precedence; a tall, high-featured man, with a stoop and a receding chin.  This was Lord Hopton, one of the most respectable of Charles’s followers; an honourable, stupid, middle-aged nobleman, who could never marshal his own thoughts and who, necessarily, spoke without persuading others.  The other Englishmen were Nicholas, the Secretary of State, and the old Lord Cottington.  The fourth gentleman was Sir George Carteret, the Lieutenant-Governor, a bluff sea-faring man, little used to obey, yet anxious, in that presence, to be deferential; with an unmistakable pugnacity varnished over with a gloss of ruse.  There being but one arm-chair in the room Charles took his seat upon it, and awaited the advice of his friends who perforce remained standing.

“I have sent for you, my Lords and gentlemen, to confer on the matter brought me by Mr. La Cloche, the Rector of St. Owen, and Chaplain to Sir George Carteret.”

Hopton opened the conference, speaking in a dull, precise manner, from the lips only, hardly opening his teeth:—­

“May it please you Sir, Mr. La Cloche hath reported to me, as I met him returning from your presence, that while he was imparting to your Highness—­I may say, your Majesty—­a matter of great moment, there was one hid in the room that played the eavesdropper.  Before proceeding farther I would humbly ask....”

“Hold there, my Lord,” broke in Charles.  “Remember, I pray you, that—­howbeit our present power, by the malice of our enemies, be brought to a narrow pass, we are still, by the grace of God your King, of full age, moreover, and no longer to be schooled.  As touching what anyone may have heard here, by our consent, we need answer to no man; neither to Mr. La Cloche nor to your Lordship.  There is, however, no one but ourselves in this room, as you may clearly see.  As to the matter of the priest’s discourse, we opine that it is already known to you.  It is of that matter that we now seek to know your minds.”

The words were not ungracefully uttered; but Hopton found no immediate answer.  He only knit his narrow brow and held his peace.  Carteret, however, stepped briskly forward; and would perhaps have committed some indiscretion had not Nicholas plucked him by the cloak.  “By your leave, Mr. Lieutenant,” said the jovial lawyer, “I would say an humble word to his Majesty, with the freedom of an ancient servant.”  His round face and merry eye were rendered serious by the resolution of a full-lipped yet firm mouth.  “Sir!” said he, turning to the young King with a look in which the bonhomie of an indulgent Mentor was blended with genuine respect, “it will, no doubt, seem to your Majesty both meet and proper that we should not leave a meddlesome parson to let you know that our faithful hearts have been sorely exercised by that which is newly come to us out of France.  Not to stay on sundry general advertisements and rumours that have reached us—­and which seemed to glance at a very exalted personage—­I mean, more particularly, what we have received this morning from a very discreet and knowing gentleman (now residing at Paris) of what he hath learned from persons of honour conversant in the secrets of the Court there.”