164 MASTER SKYLARK

learned such little tricks of cap and cloak as a lady’s page
need have, the carriage best fitted for his place, and how
to come into a room where great folks were. Moreover,
how to back out again, bowing, and not fall over the
stools—which was no little art, until Nick caught the
knack of peeping slyly between his legs when he bowed.

His hair, too, was allowed to grow long, and was combed
carefully every day by the tiring-woman; and soon, as it
was naturally curly, it fell in rolling waves about his neck.

On the heels of the governess came M’sieu de Fleury,
who, it was said, had been dancing-master to Hatton, the
late Lord Chancellor of England, and had taught him
those tricks with his nimble heels which had capered him
into the Queen’s good graces, and so got him the chancel-
lorship. M’sieu spoke dreadful English, but danced like
the essence of agility, and taught both Nick and Cicely
the latest Italian coranto, playing the tune upon his queer
little pochette.

Cicely already danced like a pixy, and laughed merrily
at her comrade’s first awkward antics, until he flushed
with embarrassment. At that she instantly became grave,
and, when M’sieu had gone, came across the room, and
putting her arm about Nick, said repentantly, “ Don’t thou
mind me, Nick. Father saith the French all laugh too
soon at nothing; and I have caught it from my mother’s
blood. A boy is not good friends with his feet as a girl
is; but thou wilt do beautifully, I know; and M’sieu shalk
teach us the galliard together.”

And often, after the lesson was over and M’sieu de