“That is my defence to Your Majesty; and it is perfectly true—­neither less nor more than the truth.  But I am not only a diplomat.”

He did not fully understand me, I think, for he looked at me sharply.

“Well?” he said.  “What else?”

“I have another defence for the public—­Sir—­not so courteous to Your Majesty.”

He remained rigid an instant.

“Then for the public,” he said, “you do not think the truth enough?”

“No, Sir; it is for Your Majesty that I think the truth too much.”

“I will have it!” cried the King.  “This moment!”

Interiorly I licked my lips, as a dog when he sees a bone.  His Majesty should have the truth now, with a vengeance.  All was falling out exactly as I had designed.  He should not have kept me waiting so long; or I might not have thought of it.

“Well, Sir,” said I, “you will remember I should not have dared to say it to Your Majesty, had I not been commanded.”

He said nothing.  Then, once more, I ruffled my growling dog’s ears, so that he snarled.

“First, Sir; to the public I should say:  If this is counted brawling, what of other scenes in Whitehall on which no charge was made?  What of the sun-dial, smashed all to fragments one night, in the Privy Garden, by certain of the King’s Gentlemen whom I could name?  What of the broken door-knockers—­not only in the City, but upon certain doors in Whitehall itself—­broken, again by certain of the King’s Gentlemen whom I could name?  What of a scene I viewed myself in the Banqueting Hall last Christmastide in Your Majesty’s presence, when a Spanish gentleman received full in his face a bunch of raisins, from—­”

“Ah!” snarled the King.  “And you would say that to the public?”

“Sir—­that is only the exordium “—­(my voice was raised a little, I think, for indeed I was raging again by now).  “Next, I would observe that Mistress Jermyn is my own cousin, and that the hour was eight o’clock in the evening—­not nine, if I may so far correct Your Majesty; whereas very different hours are kept by some members of the Court, and the ladies are not their cousins at all.”

I had never seen the King so angry.  He was unable to speak for fury.  His face paled to parchment-colour under his sallow skin, and his eyes burned like coals.  This time I lashed my anger, deliberately, instead of tickling it merely.

“Sir; that is not nearly all; but I will miss out a few points, and come to my peroration.  My peroration would be after this fashion.  Such, I would say, is the charge against one who has been of service to His Majesty; and such is the Court (as I have described) of that same King.  There is not a Court in Europe that has a Prince so noble as our own can be, of better parts, or of higher ambitions, or of so pure a blood.  And there is no Prince who is served so poorly; no Court that so stinks in the nostrils of God and man, as does his.  He is