Charles was in his purple velvet, with no token of a military purpose.  But on his left rode a gigantic guardsman in full panoply, while Elliot came on the right (but with his horse half a length behind) in gorgeous array, though more for show than for service.  In his silver helmet fluttered a lissom ostrich plume, his shining cuirass was damascened with gold, which metal also glittered on the hilt of his sword.  The tops of his buff boots and gauntlets were fringed with costly Brussels point.  As they approached the crushed and alarmed ladies, a militia officer rushing to their aid from his place between the guns and the nearest company of foot, came into involuntary contact with the glistening groom of the chamber.  The lace of the later’s boot caught in the steel shoulder piece of the infantry officer, and was torn.  Irritated and excited Elliot brought down his hand upon the unconscious offender, and dealt him a heavy blow on the side of the face.  At this sight—­with nerves already overstrung—­Marguerite became unable to control her usually placid steed; and Alain le Gallais—­for he was the militia officer—­was diverted from his instinctive but imprudent impulse of immediate retaliation, by seeing the young lady slip from her saddle into his arms.

The little incident was over in an instant, and the king passed on, but not without taking it all in with the observation natural to him.

“A comely wench, Tom!” he said to his companion, “and one that seemeth to know thee.  But it seems that others gather what thou fellest.”

“Faith, sir,” answered Elliot, smilingly, “I have given him his wage beforehand.  It is well that he should do my work.”

There was no time for longer or plainer speech.  The guns began a royal salute, their muzzles fortunately directed towards the sea—­for many of the pieces had been charged for ball practice.  This somewhat dangerous demonstration was followed by a dropping fire of blank cartridge from the matchlocks of the foot, and then by general acclamations of “Vive le Roi” from all ranks.  Then Philip de Carteret, Seigneur of S. Ouen, being called to the front, received the congratulations of the king on the appearance of the forces, in which, under the lieutenant-governor, his uncle, he held the chief command.  He was then bidden to kneel, touched with the royal sword, and told to “Rise, Sir Philip de Carteret.”  The eighteen stand of colours were displayed on the outer sides of the columns.  Again the drums beat, the trumpets blew, and with the same state as that in which he had arrived, the king was escorted back to the castle.

As soon as Charles and his followers had been relieved of their full dress they renewed the conversation in which they had been interrupted on the sands, Elliot first endeavouring to improve the occasion into an argument against the king’s remaining in Jersey.

“That malapert bumpkin will be no friend either to me or to your majesty,” he said.  “At himself I snap my fingers.  But it seems to me there are some two thousand of them who cry ‘Vive le Roi’ for half a pistole, but would cry ‘Vivent nous autres’ for nothing.  If the French land here they will turn against you at once.  If the Parliament prevail they will submit, willy nilly.  And your majesty may feel no ailment, yet have to be attended by the surgeon who cured your father.”