When the door closed behind Mr. Chiffinch I felt more alone than ever. I
regarded the King's dark face, turned down upon his paper; his dusky
ringed hand with the lace turned back; the blue-gemmed quill that he
used, his great plumed hat. I looked now and again, discreetly, round
the room, at the gorgeous carvings, the tall presses, the innumerable
clocks, the brightly polished windows with the river flowing beneath. I
felt very little and lonely. Then, in a flash, the memory came back that
not fifty yards away was Dolly's little parlour, and Dolly herself; and
my determination surged up once more.

Suddenly His Majesty threw down his pen.

"Mr. Mallock," he said very sternly, "there is only one excuse for
you--that you were drunk last night. Do you plead that?"

He was looking straight at me with savage melancholy eyes. I dropped my
own.

"No, Sir."

"You dare to say you were not drunk?"

"Yes, Sir."

His Majesty caught up an ivory knife and sat drawing it through his
fingers, still looking at me, I perceived; though I kept my eyes down. I
could see that he was violently impatient.

"Mr. Mallock," said he, "this is intolerable. You come back from France
where you have done me good service--I will never deny that--and you