“The Duchess of Hearts is eager and confident.  Write at once, giving full directions.

“YOUR FRIEND.”

Frances added a postscript in cipher, but I shall not translate it.

One morning, some three weeks after sending my letter, Frances came to me in my closet in the Wardrobe, and I saw at once she was in great trouble.  Her eyes were red with weeping, and the woebegone expression of her face would have been amusing had I not known that some good cause was back of it.  As soon as she entered I saw that she was going to speak, but closets in Whitehall have ears, so I placed my finger on my lips to enjoin silence, and spoke loud enough to be heard if any one was listening:—­

“Ah, Frances, I forgot that I had promised to go with you to your father’s this morning.  Wait for me at Holbein’s Gate.  I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

Within the promised time I found Frances at Holbein’s Gate, and we walked up to Charing Cross, thence down the Strand toward Temple Bar.

“What is the trouble, Frances?” I asked, anxious to hear her news, which I feared was bad.  She was in great distress, and I saw that a flood of tears was ready to accompany her tale of woe, so I said hurriedly:  “Don’t cry.  Laugh while you speak.  You will attract less attention.”

She tried to laugh, but the effort was piteous and became a failure, as she said:—­

“George Hamilton has sailed for Canada, and my heart is broken.”

Again she tried to smile, but the smile never reached her eyes, for they were full of tears.

“How do you know?” I asked, almost stunned by the news.

She tried to stay her tears, but failed, and answered between sobs:  “Last night at the queen’s ball, the king showed me a letter sent by order of the French king, saying that George had sailed from Bordeaux for Canada nearly a fortnight ago.  I could not help showing my grief, and the king, who was boisterously happy, said:  ’Now you will forget him and listen to me.’  I smiled, but it was a poor effort, and he smiled, showing his yellow fangs as he left me.  I pray God that I may never be called upon to hate another man as I hate him.”

“I can hardly believe that George has gone to Canada without notifying us,” I said.

“Yes, I fear it is true,” she returned.  “But if I am ever so fortunate as to find him again, I intend to go with him whether he consents or no, regardless of father and all the world.  Just as soon as I learn where he is in Canada, I will go to him.  You will take me, won’t you, Baron Ned?”

“I’ll not give that promise,” I answered.  “But I am sure there is something back of King Louis’s letter of which we do not know.  Surely George would not have sailed without notifying us.”

“He may have feared to betray himself by writing,” she suggested, “since King Charles had asked King Louis to detain him.”

“That is true,” I returned.  “But the occasion must have been urgent indeed if he could not have sent us word in some manner.”