And had he given up the idea of going back to Honeymead? Yes; and he had almost forgotten that there was such a place. The Brindled Cow and Rosamund were like visions of the past which did not much concern him. His yellow cap was the thing that most troubled him, for it pained his head badly. If he had been alone he would have taken it off; but in such fine company he was unwilling to be seen without the handsomest part of his attire.
All this time the King had been talking to him in the most confidential and familiar way imaginable.
'My dear fellow,' he said, 'your arrival is most timely. To-morrow would have been too late. It is most kind of you.'
'Service, my friend! Such a word between you and me? Never! Counsel--support--sympathy--such as one potentate may claim from another--these I expect from you. But let me explain to you exactly how the case stands. In the first place, I feel that I am getting old.'
After saying this the King paused as if for a reply. Raymond had never known what it was to pay a compliment in his life; but now something prompted him to say, with a smile and a bow--
'Not at all. Your Majesty is, to all intents and purposes, as young as I am.'
'Ah, it is very good of you to say that,' sighed his Majesty, looking highly gratified. 'But I really am old--older than you would suppose; and, if you can believe it, some of my scoundrelly subjects have said (behind my back) that I am growing senile--that is the word the villains use--and they are plotting to dethrone me at ten o'clock to-morrow morning.'
'Nothing less. It is announced to take place at Drury Lane Theatre, and the house is sold, from pit to gallery.'
'Oh! it is only a play, then?' said Raymond, in a relieved tone.
'I don't know what you mean by a play,' returned the King, looking slightly hurt. 'It takes place on the stage, of course; but it is as much earnest as anything that goes on in London.'
'Certainly--of course,' said Raymond, anxious not to seem ignorant of fashionable customs. 'But whom do the conspirators mean to put on the throne in your stead? Your son?'
'My Assimund, you mean? Well, that is just the point. My son Assimund is a perfectly harmless young fellow, but--in fact--he is rather too much so.'