“I shall ever be beholden to his lordship, I am sure,” Madame Bonaventure said, casting down her eyes and blushing, or feigning to blush, “as well as to you, Monseigneur.”

“My Lord Roos avouched,” pursued Buckingham, “that at the Three Cranes I should find the prettiest hostess and the best wine in London; and on my faith as a gentleman!  I must say he was wrong in neither particular.  Brighter eyes I have never beheld—­rarer claret I have never drunk.”

“Oh, Monseigneur! you quite overwhelm me.  My poor house can scarcely hope to be honoured a second time with such a presence; but should it so chance”—­

“You will give me as good welcome as you have done to-day.  No lack of inducement to repeat the visit.  Sir Giles Mompesson!”

“My lord Marquis.”

“I lay my commands upon you, good Sir Giles, that no further molestation be offered to Madame Bonaventure, but that you give a good report of her house.  Withdraw your followers without delay.”

“Your commands shall be obeyed, my lord Marquis,” Sir Giles rejoined; “but before I go I have an arrest to make.  That young man,” pointing to Jocelyn, “has been talking treason.”

“It is false, my lord Marquis,” Jocelyn replied.  “His Majesty hath not a more loyal subject than myself.  I would cut out my tongue rather than speak against him.  I have said the King is ill served in such officers as Giles Mompesson and Sir Francis Mitchell, and I abide by my words.  They can reflect no dishonour on his Majesty.”

“Save that they seem to imply a belief on your part that his Majesty has chosen his officers badly,” Buckingham said, regarding the young man fixedly.

“Not so, my lord Marquis, These men may have been favourably represented to his Majesty, who no doubt has been kept in ignorance of their iniquitous proceedings.”

“What are you driving at, Sir?” Buckingham cried, almost fiercely.

“I mean, my lord Marquis, that these persons may be the creatures of some powerful noble, whose interest it is to throw a cloak over their malpractices.”

“’Fore heaven! some covert insult would seem to be intended,” exclaimed Buckingham.  “Who is this young man, Sir Giles?”

“He is named Jocelyn Mounchensey, my lord Marquis; and is the son of an old Norfolk knight baronet, who, you may remember, was arraigned before the Court of Star-Chamber, heavily fined, and imprisoned.”

“I do remember the case, and the share you and Sir Francis had in it, Sir Giles,” Buckingham rejoined.

“I am right glad to hear that, my lord,” said Jocelyn.  “You will not then wonder that I avow myself their mortal enemy.”

“We laugh to scorn these idle vapourings,” said Sir Giles; “and were it permitted,” he added, touching his sword, “I myself would find an easy way to silence them.  But the froward youth, whose brains seem crazed with his fancied wrongs, is not content with railing against us, but must needs lift up his voice against all constituted authority.  He hath spoken contemptuously of the Star-Chamber,—­and that, my lord Marquis, as you well know, is an offence, which cannot be passed over.”