Just as soon as our plans were completed, I left my uncle’s house and took another coach for Charing Cross, dismissed the coach, ran down to Whitehall, and climbed over the balcony to my closet, glad to find myself once more at home.  I did not permit myself to sleep, but rose at the usual hours and was at my post ready for duty when the others arrived.

I soon learned that the king had been away from the palace all night, having left in a coach near the hour of five the preceding afternoon, so that he must have been not far ahead of George, Betty, and me on the way to Merlin House.  When I learned that he was away, and that I would not be needed that morning at the Wardrobe, I went to seek Frances.

Before ten o’clock, the hour at which the maids assembled to greet the duchess in her closet, Frances was on hand, looking pale, and explaining that she had been ill at her father’s house over night.

Near the hour of four that afternoon, while I was looking out the window, I saw a coach approach from the direction of Charing Cross, and seemed to know that the king was in it.  I hastened to Frances and told her to station herself where the king could see her before he went to his closet, and perhaps speak to her.  I stood near by, and when the king entered I noticed him start on seeing Frances.  When he came up to us, she smiled and made so deep a courtesy that one would have thought she was overjoyed to see him.

The king stopped before us for a moment, saying, “We have had a terrible storm, baron.”

“Indeed we have, your Majesty,” I answered, bowing, “though I have not so much as thrust my head out-of-doors save to go down to Sir Richard’s yesterday evening to fetch Mistress Jennings home.”

“Did she come—­I mean, would she face the storm?” asked the king.

“No, no,” answered Frances, laughing.  “Why face the storm to return to Whitehall when the king was away?  I remained with my father, and was so ill that a physician was called at seven o’clock.”

“I hope you are well again,” said the king.

“Not entirely.  But now I shall be,” she answered, laughing.

“You mean now that I am at home?” asked the king, shaking his head doubtfully.

“Yes, your Majesty.”

“If your heart were as kind as your tongue, I should be a much happier man than I am.”

His Majesty sighed as he turned away, and the expression on his face was as an open book to me, knowing as I did that he had just failed in perpetrating an act of villainy which would have hanged any other man in England.

One of the king’s greatest misfortunes was his mouth.  He could never keep it closed.  A secret seemed to disagree with him, physically and mentally; therefore he relieved himself of it as soon as possible by telling any one that would listen.  Knowing this royal weakness, I was not at all surprised to learn, two or three days after our adventure, that it was being talked about by the court.