“A modest manner and a bold heart, I fear, your Majesty,” returned Frances, making the most pleasing compliment she could have paid her sovereign.  “May I be honored with your Majesty’s hand for the next coranto?”

“It is my will,” graciously answered the king.

The ball opened with a brantle which his Majesty danced with the duchess, Frances remaining, meantime, with Mary and me, awaiting the coranto with the king, a royal favor which would win for her the envy of many a lady, as the king seldom danced.

When the brantle was finished, the king worked his way over to Frances, and when the bugle announced the coranto, she was saved the embarrassment of seeking him, as she must have done had he not been by her side.

An altogether unexpected ordeal awaited Frances, for when the French musicians began to play and his Majesty led her out, she found herself and the king the only dancers on the floor except the Duke of York with Mistress Stuart, and the Duke of Monmouth with his father’s friend, Lady Castlemain.  Every one else stood by the wall, many of the ladies hoping to see the new maid fail, and all of the gentlemen eager to behold her and to comment.

The coranto is a difficult movement to perform gracefully.  It consists of a step forward, a pause during which the dancer balances on one foot, holding the other suspended forward for a moment, then another step, followed by a bow on the gentleman’s part and a deep courtesy by the lady.

I confess that I was uneasy, for Frances was a country girl, and the coranto was the most trying, though, if well done, the most beautiful of all dances.

Mary clasped my hand in alarm for Frances and whispered:  “I do hope she dances well.  The lack of grace in a woman is inexcusable.  She had better not dance at all than poorly.”

Mary’s hopes were realized at once, for the king and Frances had not been on the floor three minutes till the gentlemen began to clap their hands softly, and in a moment a round of applause came from the entire audience, as often happened in those informal balls.

The king turned to Frances, saying:  “They are applauding your dancing.  Take your bow.”

“No, it’s all for your Majesty,” she returned.

“No, no, my dancing is an old story to them.  It is your grace they are applauding.”

“Spare me, your Majesty,” she pleaded, laughing.

As the applause continued, they stopped dancing for a moment, and Frances made her courtesy to the audience.  Thereupon the applause increased, and she courtesied again, kissing her hand as she rose from the floor.

The girl was in high spirits, and laughed as she talked to the king, who smiled on her in a manner that caused my Lady Castlemain to remark:—­

“The young milkmaid’s affectations are disgusting.”  Other equally flattering remarks were to be heard from women of the Castlemain stamp, but the men were a unit in praising the new beauty.