Chapter Thirty Eight.The King’s horses and men.The landlord of the little inn welcomed his visitors eagerly, for he had never before had guests of such degree, and when not observed he gazed open-eyed at their rich habiliments, for there had been no time to don their travelling garments. Everything had been made to give way to the opportune moment for securing the jewel and making their escape.All the host studied was about how many gold pieces he would be able to charge this noble gentleman who had had so unfortunate an accident through his horse stumbling upon the ill-kept road, while he and his wife did everything they could in their attentions, in the hope that their visitors might prolong their stay.Leoni bit his nails to the quick as he paced up and down, watching the road from the King’s humble chamber, expecting every minute to see a mounted guard coming to arrest them, and in spite of his longing to be upon the road he dared not suggest such a thing to the King in his intervals of consciousness, when he questioned about his state and where they were, for his hurt was too serious for any risk to be run.So Leoni tended his wounded sovereign night and day, while, quite as impatiently as he, Denis and Saint Simon tried to while away the time by giving extra attention to the horses, and feeding them up ready for a severe test of their powers when they once more continued their flight.They too watched the road each way without attempting to leave the inn, lest troubles should arise and they not be there.It was late in the afternoon of the fourth day, and the impatience and anxiety of the King’s followers had grown unbearable; but they had this consolation, that the wound was doing well, and that though weak Francis was conscious and ready to talk as much as Leoni would permit about Fontainebleau and the journey home.But he always avoided making any mention of the jewel, or of his dissatisfaction at having attempted so wild an escapade.It was, then, late in the afternoon of this fourth day, when after Francis had had a light meal he sank into a profound and restful sleep, thanks to Leoni’s dressing of the wound; and as soon as his attendant had satisfied himself that the sleep was deep, he went down to the shabby little room occupied by Denis and Saint Simon, who sat dolefully comparing their quarters with those they had so lately left.“He is better, then?” cried Denis, springing up as Leoni entered; and then he looked wonderingly at Leoni, who stood perfectly still, rapt of manner and silent, gazing fixedly at him with that expressionless stony eye, while with the other he seemed to be looking Saint Simon through and through.“Yes,” said the doctor at last, as if dragging himself back from where his thoughts had wandered away; “better—much.”“He is ready to start, then?” said Denis eagerly.“No, nor near it. We are quite lost sight of here in this lonely place. I think we can do so with safety, so we will stay another night. I dare not risk another breakdown on the road.”“Oh,” ejaculated Denis, “you surely do not advise that we should keep his—the Comte in this squalid place another night?”“Not from choice, boy, but from necessity. Another such a night as he has just had, and he may be fit to start. To leave to-day would aggravate his wound.”“Oh,” cried Denis impatiently, “while at any moment Henry’s people may have obtained a clue and surround this place!”“We are playing for high stakes, boy,” said Leoni gravely, “and we must take all risks.”The King did not awaken until late in the evening, seeming so much rested and clear that Denis’s heart leaped with excitement, for he began to speak calmly, declaring that he was ready to start.“No, sir,” said Leoni. “Believe me, not yet. Let us see what to-morrow brings.” And he reached out his hand to take his master by the wrist; but with an impatient “Pish!” Francis snatched his hand away and sprang to his feet.“Absurd!” he cried. “I am quite fit to start, for the pain has left my wound. It would do me more harm to stop fretting here. Order the—”He said no more, but made a snatch at the wall and would have reeled and fallen had not Saint Simon acted as the sturdy buttress he was, and lowered him easily into a chair.“That giddiness again,” cried the King, with a sigh. “The doctor is right. Early to-morrow morning, then, gentlemen,” he said, with a peculiar smile. “Leoni is king now, and reigns in our stead. I like not his palace, but we shall be safe here.”The evening passed on. Leoni was with the King in his chamber, and Denis and Saint Simon were seated gloomily together in their humble room, and the latter was from time to time sipping and making wry faces over a stoup of the bitterest, sourest, harshest cider that was ever drawn from tub, when there was the loud clattering of horses upon the road coming at a sharp trot; and as the young men sprang to their feet a loud command was heard, which was followed by the stamping and shuffling of hoofs as a troop of horsemen drew rein shortly in front of the little inn.“Caught!” said Saint Simon abruptly, and his hand sought the hilt of his sword, while Denis followed his example, just as the door was thrown open and Leoni rushed in.“The King’s guards,” he cried, “and resistance will be in vain. Gentlemen, I am ready to give my life, as you are yours; but even if we die for our master’s sake, what then? We should only leave him a prisoner in Henry’s hands, to bear the brunt of his trouble all alone.”“You mean that we must surrender?” cried Denis angrily.“Yes,” said Leoni, looking at him fixedly, and with a smile upon his lips, “and I give you good counsel. It must be so. Hah!” he whispered harshly, as he caught the boy by the breast. “Hark!”He loosed his hold, stepped lightly as a cat to the window, and peered through a tiny opening in the partly fastened window-shutter, to make out dimly a little crowd of horses and men in the cloudy night.But his ears made up for the want of penetration of his eyes, for just then a sharp order rang out and the horses, which had been taking their turns to lower their muzzles to the water in the long trough in front of the inn, raised them, dripping, and a couple of minutes later the troop was in motion again, with the hoofs of the chargers rattling and gradually dying out upon the road.Denis was in the act of drawing a long deep breath of relief, hardly believing that they had escaped, when their host appeared at the door.“The King’s men, gentlemen,” he said, “from Windsor; but it was only to give their horses water,” he added sadly. “They would not come in to drink, and I expect,” he continued dolefully, “when I go to look I shall find the trough empty, and an hour’s work before me to fill it from the well. But they are the King’s men, gentlemen; any other travellers would have paid, as you do, gentlemen, generously and well.”“Let me pay, then, for this,” cried Denis, light-hearted as he was at the thoughts of their escape, and he slipped a broad piece of silver into the man’s hand, sending him on his way rejoicing.That night Denis dropped into a deep but at the same time a thoroughly uneasy sleep, in which at times it seemed to him that he was being pursued, at others that he was the pursuer, while people were constantly getting into his way, shouting out lustily, “You cannot pass!” He was in terrible anxiety too about his master, who was just ahead, urging on his horse, not apparently along an ordinary respectable country road, but through what seemed to be absolutely interminable galleries of a palace. He wanted to tell him to turn either to the right or to the left, and by that means escape from what appeared to be a labyrinth; but unluckily he could not get his horse abreast of that of his master, and the wind was blowing so hard that his voice would not carry. He was just about to shout “France! France!” when he woke up, with the perspiration standing on his brow and the conviction full upon him as he reached for his cloak and sword that real danger did threaten his lord, when Leoni seized his arm.“Come, boy,” he said, and he led him into the room where Francis and Saint Simon were talking.And then sounds below caught the boy’s ear, the trampling of horses and theburr, burr, of deep-toned voices, one of which said angrily:“We had traces of the fugitives up to this place. Did they come here?”“No,” was the landlord’s prompt reply.“Well, we must remain here for the night.”“But, sir, I have no room in my poor inn for such a company as yours.”“What you have will serve,” was the response, and the speaker entered the inn, striding past the host.Francis heard these last words.“We must come to a great resolution, gentlemen,” he said calmly. “We must separate. Singly you may get through. You will leave me here as I am ill. I will follow as best I can. Go.”“Never, Sire,” said Leoni, and his one word had two echoes in the little room.“But—” began Francis, and he stopped, for there was a noise on the stairs, and the landlord was heard exclaiming:“I assure you, sir, that the room is not fit—”“Well, there is a light in it anyway.”“It is empty, sir.”“I see a light under the door.”“But my guests cannot be disturbed.”“You said that the room was empty just now. Peste! Your word seems doubtful. I will see for myself.”The landlord was silent.“Stand out of the way, old man, and let me pass, if you value your head.”The door was pushed roughly open, and the Captain of the Guard strode in.“Found!” he cried. “I shall save my credit at Court.—Gentlemen,” he went on, with the utmost courtesy and bowing low, “his Majesty the King, disappointed with your abrupt leave-taking, has commanded me to escort you back to his palace.”“It is impossible,” cried Leoni sternly. “The Count was seriously wounded as we left the gates. You see for yourself. He is faint and weak.”“I am very sorry, sir,” replied the captain sternly, “but I have his Majesty’s orders.”“But not to brutally slay the King’s guest. I am achirurgien, and you may take my word.”The captain took a candle in his hand and held it over the rough pallet where Francis lay, and satisfied himself that Leoni’s words were true.“Is the injury bad?” he said quietly.“Bad, but not dangerous if he is left undisturbed.”“And if I consent to defer our departure till the morning, what then?”“I cannot say for certain, sir,” replied Leoni, “but I think it may be possible, with care.”“Very well,” said the captain; “but I give you warning, gentlemen, that any attempt at an escape—”“Bah!” ejaculated Leoni contemptuously. “Are we likely to leave our master?”“Perhaps not,” said the captain, with a bluff laugh, “but you might try to take him.”“In a litter?” said Leoni mockingly.“There, we must not bandy words, sir,” said the captain. “It is my duty to tell you that an attempt at escape may be at the cost of some of your lives. We will stay here the night. But now, gentlemen, I have one unpleasant duty to perform.”“Our swords!” cried Denis hotly.“No, sir,” said the captain, with a smile. “His Majesty would not desire that I should call upon you to suffer that indignity. My instructions were that in your hasty departure the other night one of you took by mistake something—papers, documents, I don’t know exactly what—but something to which his Majesty attaches great importance.”“I hardly understand you,” said Leoni coolly.“Perhaps one of your friends does, sir,” continued the captain. “Of course it was taken by mistake.”“This means, I presume, that you consider yourself bound to search us?”The captain bowed.“Pray do so, then, but incommode my patient as little as you can. You have an easy task, sir, for our valises were left behind.”As Leoni said, it was an easy task, for all offered themselves freely to the officer’s inspection, and soon after the latter signified that he was satisfied, and was about to leave the room. But as he reached the door he stopped short and turned to Leoni.“One moment, sir,” he said. “Can you and will you answer for the Comte here, who seems to be insensible to what is going on?”“He is,” said Leoni, “from the effects of his wound.”“Then will you speak for him? And you, gentlemen, will you all give me your word that you are not bearing off any paper or despatch belonging to his Majesty?”“Certainly,” replied Leoni, “and my friends will too. We have neither paper nor despatch belonging to your King.”The captain bowed, and left the room, to set a couple of his men as sentries at the chamber door; and as the occupants of the humble room stood listening to the King’s heavy breathing, for he had fallen into a deep sleep, they heard the tramp of footsteps outside, sounds which made Leoni glide on tiptoe to the window and cautiously look out.“Prisoners indeed,” he said softly, with a bitter smile, as he returned; and as in the dim light of the two candles burning on the table Denis met the doctor’s eyes with a stern reproachful look, he shuddered slightly, for they looked to him more strange and fixed than ever, having so strange an effect upon him that he could not put his reproach into words.“Well,” said Leoni lightly, “calmness is the best remedy for a trouble. Gentlemen, I will watch by our master’s side; you are young, and had better go back to your chambers and try to sleep. Of course it would be madness to attempt to escape.”
The landlord of the little inn welcomed his visitors eagerly, for he had never before had guests of such degree, and when not observed he gazed open-eyed at their rich habiliments, for there had been no time to don their travelling garments. Everything had been made to give way to the opportune moment for securing the jewel and making their escape.
All the host studied was about how many gold pieces he would be able to charge this noble gentleman who had had so unfortunate an accident through his horse stumbling upon the ill-kept road, while he and his wife did everything they could in their attentions, in the hope that their visitors might prolong their stay.
Leoni bit his nails to the quick as he paced up and down, watching the road from the King’s humble chamber, expecting every minute to see a mounted guard coming to arrest them, and in spite of his longing to be upon the road he dared not suggest such a thing to the King in his intervals of consciousness, when he questioned about his state and where they were, for his hurt was too serious for any risk to be run.
So Leoni tended his wounded sovereign night and day, while, quite as impatiently as he, Denis and Saint Simon tried to while away the time by giving extra attention to the horses, and feeding them up ready for a severe test of their powers when they once more continued their flight.
They too watched the road each way without attempting to leave the inn, lest troubles should arise and they not be there.
It was late in the afternoon of the fourth day, and the impatience and anxiety of the King’s followers had grown unbearable; but they had this consolation, that the wound was doing well, and that though weak Francis was conscious and ready to talk as much as Leoni would permit about Fontainebleau and the journey home.
But he always avoided making any mention of the jewel, or of his dissatisfaction at having attempted so wild an escapade.
It was, then, late in the afternoon of this fourth day, when after Francis had had a light meal he sank into a profound and restful sleep, thanks to Leoni’s dressing of the wound; and as soon as his attendant had satisfied himself that the sleep was deep, he went down to the shabby little room occupied by Denis and Saint Simon, who sat dolefully comparing their quarters with those they had so lately left.
“He is better, then?” cried Denis, springing up as Leoni entered; and then he looked wonderingly at Leoni, who stood perfectly still, rapt of manner and silent, gazing fixedly at him with that expressionless stony eye, while with the other he seemed to be looking Saint Simon through and through.
“Yes,” said the doctor at last, as if dragging himself back from where his thoughts had wandered away; “better—much.”
“He is ready to start, then?” said Denis eagerly.
“No, nor near it. We are quite lost sight of here in this lonely place. I think we can do so with safety, so we will stay another night. I dare not risk another breakdown on the road.”
“Oh,” ejaculated Denis, “you surely do not advise that we should keep his—the Comte in this squalid place another night?”
“Not from choice, boy, but from necessity. Another such a night as he has just had, and he may be fit to start. To leave to-day would aggravate his wound.”
“Oh,” cried Denis impatiently, “while at any moment Henry’s people may have obtained a clue and surround this place!”
“We are playing for high stakes, boy,” said Leoni gravely, “and we must take all risks.”
The King did not awaken until late in the evening, seeming so much rested and clear that Denis’s heart leaped with excitement, for he began to speak calmly, declaring that he was ready to start.
“No, sir,” said Leoni. “Believe me, not yet. Let us see what to-morrow brings.” And he reached out his hand to take his master by the wrist; but with an impatient “Pish!” Francis snatched his hand away and sprang to his feet.
“Absurd!” he cried. “I am quite fit to start, for the pain has left my wound. It would do me more harm to stop fretting here. Order the—”
He said no more, but made a snatch at the wall and would have reeled and fallen had not Saint Simon acted as the sturdy buttress he was, and lowered him easily into a chair.
“That giddiness again,” cried the King, with a sigh. “The doctor is right. Early to-morrow morning, then, gentlemen,” he said, with a peculiar smile. “Leoni is king now, and reigns in our stead. I like not his palace, but we shall be safe here.”
The evening passed on. Leoni was with the King in his chamber, and Denis and Saint Simon were seated gloomily together in their humble room, and the latter was from time to time sipping and making wry faces over a stoup of the bitterest, sourest, harshest cider that was ever drawn from tub, when there was the loud clattering of horses upon the road coming at a sharp trot; and as the young men sprang to their feet a loud command was heard, which was followed by the stamping and shuffling of hoofs as a troop of horsemen drew rein shortly in front of the little inn.
“Caught!” said Saint Simon abruptly, and his hand sought the hilt of his sword, while Denis followed his example, just as the door was thrown open and Leoni rushed in.
“The King’s guards,” he cried, “and resistance will be in vain. Gentlemen, I am ready to give my life, as you are yours; but even if we die for our master’s sake, what then? We should only leave him a prisoner in Henry’s hands, to bear the brunt of his trouble all alone.”
“You mean that we must surrender?” cried Denis angrily.
“Yes,” said Leoni, looking at him fixedly, and with a smile upon his lips, “and I give you good counsel. It must be so. Hah!” he whispered harshly, as he caught the boy by the breast. “Hark!”
He loosed his hold, stepped lightly as a cat to the window, and peered through a tiny opening in the partly fastened window-shutter, to make out dimly a little crowd of horses and men in the cloudy night.
But his ears made up for the want of penetration of his eyes, for just then a sharp order rang out and the horses, which had been taking their turns to lower their muzzles to the water in the long trough in front of the inn, raised them, dripping, and a couple of minutes later the troop was in motion again, with the hoofs of the chargers rattling and gradually dying out upon the road.
Denis was in the act of drawing a long deep breath of relief, hardly believing that they had escaped, when their host appeared at the door.
“The King’s men, gentlemen,” he said, “from Windsor; but it was only to give their horses water,” he added sadly. “They would not come in to drink, and I expect,” he continued dolefully, “when I go to look I shall find the trough empty, and an hour’s work before me to fill it from the well. But they are the King’s men, gentlemen; any other travellers would have paid, as you do, gentlemen, generously and well.”
“Let me pay, then, for this,” cried Denis, light-hearted as he was at the thoughts of their escape, and he slipped a broad piece of silver into the man’s hand, sending him on his way rejoicing.
That night Denis dropped into a deep but at the same time a thoroughly uneasy sleep, in which at times it seemed to him that he was being pursued, at others that he was the pursuer, while people were constantly getting into his way, shouting out lustily, “You cannot pass!” He was in terrible anxiety too about his master, who was just ahead, urging on his horse, not apparently along an ordinary respectable country road, but through what seemed to be absolutely interminable galleries of a palace. He wanted to tell him to turn either to the right or to the left, and by that means escape from what appeared to be a labyrinth; but unluckily he could not get his horse abreast of that of his master, and the wind was blowing so hard that his voice would not carry. He was just about to shout “France! France!” when he woke up, with the perspiration standing on his brow and the conviction full upon him as he reached for his cloak and sword that real danger did threaten his lord, when Leoni seized his arm.
“Come, boy,” he said, and he led him into the room where Francis and Saint Simon were talking.
And then sounds below caught the boy’s ear, the trampling of horses and theburr, burr, of deep-toned voices, one of which said angrily:
“We had traces of the fugitives up to this place. Did they come here?”
“No,” was the landlord’s prompt reply.
“Well, we must remain here for the night.”
“But, sir, I have no room in my poor inn for such a company as yours.”
“What you have will serve,” was the response, and the speaker entered the inn, striding past the host.
Francis heard these last words.
“We must come to a great resolution, gentlemen,” he said calmly. “We must separate. Singly you may get through. You will leave me here as I am ill. I will follow as best I can. Go.”
“Never, Sire,” said Leoni, and his one word had two echoes in the little room.
“But—” began Francis, and he stopped, for there was a noise on the stairs, and the landlord was heard exclaiming:
“I assure you, sir, that the room is not fit—”
“Well, there is a light in it anyway.”
“It is empty, sir.”
“I see a light under the door.”
“But my guests cannot be disturbed.”
“You said that the room was empty just now. Peste! Your word seems doubtful. I will see for myself.”
The landlord was silent.
“Stand out of the way, old man, and let me pass, if you value your head.”
The door was pushed roughly open, and the Captain of the Guard strode in.
“Found!” he cried. “I shall save my credit at Court.—Gentlemen,” he went on, with the utmost courtesy and bowing low, “his Majesty the King, disappointed with your abrupt leave-taking, has commanded me to escort you back to his palace.”
“It is impossible,” cried Leoni sternly. “The Count was seriously wounded as we left the gates. You see for yourself. He is faint and weak.”
“I am very sorry, sir,” replied the captain sternly, “but I have his Majesty’s orders.”
“But not to brutally slay the King’s guest. I am achirurgien, and you may take my word.”
The captain took a candle in his hand and held it over the rough pallet where Francis lay, and satisfied himself that Leoni’s words were true.
“Is the injury bad?” he said quietly.
“Bad, but not dangerous if he is left undisturbed.”
“And if I consent to defer our departure till the morning, what then?”
“I cannot say for certain, sir,” replied Leoni, “but I think it may be possible, with care.”
“Very well,” said the captain; “but I give you warning, gentlemen, that any attempt at an escape—”
“Bah!” ejaculated Leoni contemptuously. “Are we likely to leave our master?”
“Perhaps not,” said the captain, with a bluff laugh, “but you might try to take him.”
“In a litter?” said Leoni mockingly.
“There, we must not bandy words, sir,” said the captain. “It is my duty to tell you that an attempt at escape may be at the cost of some of your lives. We will stay here the night. But now, gentlemen, I have one unpleasant duty to perform.”
“Our swords!” cried Denis hotly.
“No, sir,” said the captain, with a smile. “His Majesty would not desire that I should call upon you to suffer that indignity. My instructions were that in your hasty departure the other night one of you took by mistake something—papers, documents, I don’t know exactly what—but something to which his Majesty attaches great importance.”
“I hardly understand you,” said Leoni coolly.
“Perhaps one of your friends does, sir,” continued the captain. “Of course it was taken by mistake.”
“This means, I presume, that you consider yourself bound to search us?”
The captain bowed.
“Pray do so, then, but incommode my patient as little as you can. You have an easy task, sir, for our valises were left behind.”
As Leoni said, it was an easy task, for all offered themselves freely to the officer’s inspection, and soon after the latter signified that he was satisfied, and was about to leave the room. But as he reached the door he stopped short and turned to Leoni.
“One moment, sir,” he said. “Can you and will you answer for the Comte here, who seems to be insensible to what is going on?”
“He is,” said Leoni, “from the effects of his wound.”
“Then will you speak for him? And you, gentlemen, will you all give me your word that you are not bearing off any paper or despatch belonging to his Majesty?”
“Certainly,” replied Leoni, “and my friends will too. We have neither paper nor despatch belonging to your King.”
The captain bowed, and left the room, to set a couple of his men as sentries at the chamber door; and as the occupants of the humble room stood listening to the King’s heavy breathing, for he had fallen into a deep sleep, they heard the tramp of footsteps outside, sounds which made Leoni glide on tiptoe to the window and cautiously look out.
“Prisoners indeed,” he said softly, with a bitter smile, as he returned; and as in the dim light of the two candles burning on the table Denis met the doctor’s eyes with a stern reproachful look, he shuddered slightly, for they looked to him more strange and fixed than ever, having so strange an effect upon him that he could not put his reproach into words.
“Well,” said Leoni lightly, “calmness is the best remedy for a trouble. Gentlemen, I will watch by our master’s side; you are young, and had better go back to your chambers and try to sleep. Of course it would be madness to attempt to escape.”
Chapter Thirty Nine.A Death Warrant.“Well,” said the King, on the following evening, “you have them prisoners?”“Yes, Sire.”“Safely?”“They are back in their old apartments, sir,” replied the chamberlain.“What, not imprisoned?”“No, Sire; they are carefully watched, but they are still your Majesty’s guests.”“Absurd!” cried the King fiercely. “This man can be no ambassador. He is a marauder, a masquerader, who came to my court to act the common thief.”“But the letter, Sire, of which he was the bearer?”“Is as false as everything else concerning him. My guests!” cried the King fiercely. “My prisoners! This man shall die.”“But that will not restore the jewel, Sire.”“What!” cried the King angrily. “Have you not got it?”“No, Sire. They were carefully searched, but it was not found.”“Then he shall be forced to confess where it is.”“I have not told your Majesty all yet,” said the chamberlain.“Then why have you not?” cried the King fiercely. “Speak out, man; speak out!”“Your Majesty checked me,” replied the chamberlain deprecatingly, “The Comte was—”“The Comte!” cried the King contemptuously.“Then this member of the Valois family, as you believe he is.”“But no—absurd! Let him be the Comte de la Seine; one who has come here under false pretences, a pretender. Whoever he is, he is my enemy, fate has placed him in my hands, and he shall die—ay, if it costs me a war with France. But mark me well—he dies as the thief who under the mask of a French nobleman entered my palace to plunder. The world shall see in this matter only the just punishment of a crime.” And as he spoke the King drew towards him paper and seized a pen. “Short and sharp punishment,” he said, “and in thus acting I clear the way to the throne which by rights is mine.”The chamberlain stretched out his hand in an imploring gesture, the while a mocking smile played about the King’s lips.“Sire,” he said, “hesitate now. Think well of what you are about to do. Heaven could let no good come of it, and the day will dawn when you will rue the committal of a crime.”“Hurst!” exclaimed the King angrily; but the chamberlain dropped on one knee.“Your Majesty, let me plead for this stranger who came to your Court—”“As a thief.”“No, Sire; as a patriot who had determined to obtain the jewel which in the old time belonged to his ancestors’ crown.”“That is naught,” said Henry. “This man shall die.” And he raised the pen once more.“You who are so great a king, Sire, should be magnanimous here. This night, Sire, is your own, to do good or ill; but it will be the darkest of your reign if that warrant is signed.”“But why do you intercede?” asked Henry, and he threw himself back in his chair. “Francis is nothing to you.”“The life of a noble prince, Sire, is much to all the world, and—”“You know him?” interrupted the King sharply.“Last year in Paris, Sire, he befriended my brother, who could speak nothing of him but good; and I have not told you, Sire, that he is very ill.”“Bah!” cried the King.“Deadly sick from his wound, Sire.”“His wound!” said the King, starting.“Yes, Sire. In the daring escape, when two of the guards and Sir Robert Garstang were wounded, the Comte was struck down by one of your brave halberdiers.”“And serve the villain right,” cried the King impetuously. “Brave fellow! has he been rewarded?”“No, Sire. That is left for your Majesty to do.”“And it shall be done, on my royal word,” cried the King. “Wounded and sick, say you?”“Yes, Sire; I have seen him, and he is very weak.”“Well,” said the King, “you have done your part in your appeal. But I have made up my mind to this.” And as he spoke the King drew himself up in his chair once more and seized his pen.Hurst watched as if fascinated, seeing the King commence to write, and then toss the pen aside as he finished, while afterwards he was about to summon the officer of the guards without, but checked himself, extending his hand to Hurst, who bent over it.“I will not doubt you,” he said, handing him the warrant. “Deliver it to the governor.” And then with a wave of the hand he dismissed the chamberlain, who withdrew.Outside the chamber, Hurst proceeded a short distance down a corridor, and then gazed at the document by the light of a swinging lamp.“The death warrant of the King of France,” he mused, as he noted the words condemning the Comte de la Seine to die, and then the formula: “By the King. Given at our Court at Windsor—Henry R.”He went on slowly along the corridor till he had passed beyond the King’s private apartments, and, as if drawn by some attraction, made his way in the direction of the chamber where Francis was lying suffering from his wound.“Bad, bad, bad,” he muttered to himself. “I must be right, and Francis was ill-advised, if advised at all, and not led by his own impetuous nature to play such a trick as this. Well, he gambled with his life, and he has lost. What is it to me? I have my duty to perform. But I would give something now for the instinct of the prophet, to be able to see what this will mean in the future to France and to my own country when it is known.”He walked on dreamily, and then started, for he found that he had unconsciously drawn near to Francis’s chamber, and he hesitated, half disposed to go in and see how he fared; but he frowned and went on.“No,” he said, “I have my own head to think of, and my movements may be misconstrued by the most jealous man that ever sat upon a throne.”He was passing slowly on in the gloomiest part by the door, when he started, for some one had silently glided out of the opening and plucked him by the sleeve.“My lord,” whispered a voice.“Ah!” exclaimed Hurst. “You are the doctor, the Comte’s follower with the strange eye. What of your master? How is he now?”“Bad,” said Leoni softly.“So much the better,” said Hurst bitterly. “Insensible?”“At times, my lord.”“Better still.”“You speak strangely, my lord.”“These are strange times, my man. I spoke so out of sympathy with your master. It may save him further pain.”“Further pain?” said Leoni, earning the chamberlain’s term of the man “with the strange eye” by the peculiarly fixed look which was dimly seen.“Yes, further pain. People who are insensible do not suffer, do they, doctor?”“No, my lord; but what do you mean?”“What is the meed of a thief who robs a king? Is it not death?” cried Hurst fiercely; and as he spoke he stretched out one hand and tapped it sharply with the folded warrant that he held.“Hah!” ejaculated Leoni harshly, and then almost as fiercely as the chamberlain he whispered, “Would he dare to raise his hand against the ambassador of France?”“No, sir,” said the chamberlain coldly, “but against the thief of the night, who abused his hospitality that he might steal. Hark ye, man; if you have your master’s interest at heart, tell him to try to make his peace with the King by telling him where the jewel lies, for it must be somewhere concealed. Let him give it up and crave the King’s mercy, before it is too late. Do this, and it may save your life as well.”He turned away, leaving Leoni standing motionless a short distance from the door, where he remained without stirring until the chamberlain’s footsteps had died away.
“Well,” said the King, on the following evening, “you have them prisoners?”
“Yes, Sire.”
“Safely?”
“They are back in their old apartments, sir,” replied the chamberlain.
“What, not imprisoned?”
“No, Sire; they are carefully watched, but they are still your Majesty’s guests.”
“Absurd!” cried the King fiercely. “This man can be no ambassador. He is a marauder, a masquerader, who came to my court to act the common thief.”
“But the letter, Sire, of which he was the bearer?”
“Is as false as everything else concerning him. My guests!” cried the King fiercely. “My prisoners! This man shall die.”
“But that will not restore the jewel, Sire.”
“What!” cried the King angrily. “Have you not got it?”
“No, Sire. They were carefully searched, but it was not found.”
“Then he shall be forced to confess where it is.”
“I have not told your Majesty all yet,” said the chamberlain.
“Then why have you not?” cried the King fiercely. “Speak out, man; speak out!”
“Your Majesty checked me,” replied the chamberlain deprecatingly, “The Comte was—”
“The Comte!” cried the King contemptuously.
“Then this member of the Valois family, as you believe he is.”
“But no—absurd! Let him be the Comte de la Seine; one who has come here under false pretences, a pretender. Whoever he is, he is my enemy, fate has placed him in my hands, and he shall die—ay, if it costs me a war with France. But mark me well—he dies as the thief who under the mask of a French nobleman entered my palace to plunder. The world shall see in this matter only the just punishment of a crime.” And as he spoke the King drew towards him paper and seized a pen. “Short and sharp punishment,” he said, “and in thus acting I clear the way to the throne which by rights is mine.”
The chamberlain stretched out his hand in an imploring gesture, the while a mocking smile played about the King’s lips.
“Sire,” he said, “hesitate now. Think well of what you are about to do. Heaven could let no good come of it, and the day will dawn when you will rue the committal of a crime.”
“Hurst!” exclaimed the King angrily; but the chamberlain dropped on one knee.
“Your Majesty, let me plead for this stranger who came to your Court—”
“As a thief.”
“No, Sire; as a patriot who had determined to obtain the jewel which in the old time belonged to his ancestors’ crown.”
“That is naught,” said Henry. “This man shall die.” And he raised the pen once more.
“You who are so great a king, Sire, should be magnanimous here. This night, Sire, is your own, to do good or ill; but it will be the darkest of your reign if that warrant is signed.”
“But why do you intercede?” asked Henry, and he threw himself back in his chair. “Francis is nothing to you.”
“The life of a noble prince, Sire, is much to all the world, and—”
“You know him?” interrupted the King sharply.
“Last year in Paris, Sire, he befriended my brother, who could speak nothing of him but good; and I have not told you, Sire, that he is very ill.”
“Bah!” cried the King.
“Deadly sick from his wound, Sire.”
“His wound!” said the King, starting.
“Yes, Sire. In the daring escape, when two of the guards and Sir Robert Garstang were wounded, the Comte was struck down by one of your brave halberdiers.”
“And serve the villain right,” cried the King impetuously. “Brave fellow! has he been rewarded?”
“No, Sire. That is left for your Majesty to do.”
“And it shall be done, on my royal word,” cried the King. “Wounded and sick, say you?”
“Yes, Sire; I have seen him, and he is very weak.”
“Well,” said the King, “you have done your part in your appeal. But I have made up my mind to this.” And as he spoke the King drew himself up in his chair once more and seized his pen.
Hurst watched as if fascinated, seeing the King commence to write, and then toss the pen aside as he finished, while afterwards he was about to summon the officer of the guards without, but checked himself, extending his hand to Hurst, who bent over it.
“I will not doubt you,” he said, handing him the warrant. “Deliver it to the governor.” And then with a wave of the hand he dismissed the chamberlain, who withdrew.
Outside the chamber, Hurst proceeded a short distance down a corridor, and then gazed at the document by the light of a swinging lamp.
“The death warrant of the King of France,” he mused, as he noted the words condemning the Comte de la Seine to die, and then the formula: “By the King. Given at our Court at Windsor—Henry R.”
He went on slowly along the corridor till he had passed beyond the King’s private apartments, and, as if drawn by some attraction, made his way in the direction of the chamber where Francis was lying suffering from his wound.
“Bad, bad, bad,” he muttered to himself. “I must be right, and Francis was ill-advised, if advised at all, and not led by his own impetuous nature to play such a trick as this. Well, he gambled with his life, and he has lost. What is it to me? I have my duty to perform. But I would give something now for the instinct of the prophet, to be able to see what this will mean in the future to France and to my own country when it is known.”
He walked on dreamily, and then started, for he found that he had unconsciously drawn near to Francis’s chamber, and he hesitated, half disposed to go in and see how he fared; but he frowned and went on.
“No,” he said, “I have my own head to think of, and my movements may be misconstrued by the most jealous man that ever sat upon a throne.”
He was passing slowly on in the gloomiest part by the door, when he started, for some one had silently glided out of the opening and plucked him by the sleeve.
“My lord,” whispered a voice.
“Ah!” exclaimed Hurst. “You are the doctor, the Comte’s follower with the strange eye. What of your master? How is he now?”
“Bad,” said Leoni softly.
“So much the better,” said Hurst bitterly. “Insensible?”
“At times, my lord.”
“Better still.”
“You speak strangely, my lord.”
“These are strange times, my man. I spoke so out of sympathy with your master. It may save him further pain.”
“Further pain?” said Leoni, earning the chamberlain’s term of the man “with the strange eye” by the peculiarly fixed look which was dimly seen.
“Yes, further pain. People who are insensible do not suffer, do they, doctor?”
“No, my lord; but what do you mean?”
“What is the meed of a thief who robs a king? Is it not death?” cried Hurst fiercely; and as he spoke he stretched out one hand and tapped it sharply with the folded warrant that he held.
“Hah!” ejaculated Leoni harshly, and then almost as fiercely as the chamberlain he whispered, “Would he dare to raise his hand against the ambassador of France?”
“No, sir,” said the chamberlain coldly, “but against the thief of the night, who abused his hospitality that he might steal. Hark ye, man; if you have your master’s interest at heart, tell him to try to make his peace with the King by telling him where the jewel lies, for it must be somewhere concealed. Let him give it up and crave the King’s mercy, before it is too late. Do this, and it may save your life as well.”
He turned away, leaving Leoni standing motionless a short distance from the door, where he remained without stirring until the chamberlain’s footsteps had died away.
Chapter Forty.A boy’s ruse.The doctor lost no time in thought, but returned to the outer apartment which he had quitted only a few minutes before, to find that Saint Simon had joined Denis and was watching by the bed where Francis lay insensible.“We must act at once,” he said, as they joined him and he gazed at a narrow window through which the moonlight came. “Our King is in danger of his life.”Denis’s hand went to his sword.“We will fight to the last,” he said, “and die.”“Boy!” exclaimed Leoni contemptuously. “Fight and die! Better act with craft and live. What! Would you fight an army? Bah! It is not by that means that we can save his Majesty from this perilous pass.”“Then how?” asked Denis. “Order me to do anything and I will obey.”“I know,” said Leoni thoughtfully; “I know.” And he took a pace or two up and down the apartment with his eyes fixed on the floor, while the two young men watched him narrowly, seeming to be endeavouring to read his innermost thoughts, the ideas which surged within.“There is but one thing to be done,” said Leoni at last gravely. “Francis is ill and closely guarded, and his life is doubly in danger, for Henry’s intentions are lad.” And as he spoke he looked hard at Denis, who said not a word.“And what is that one thing?” asked Saint Simon.Leoni thought a minute or two before replying.“It is this,” he said at length quietly. “We his followers are free to go where we list, and Francis must be saved. I, alas, can be nothing in my plan; but you,” he went on, looking direct at Saint Simon, “or Denis, might save the King.”“How?” exclaimed Denis again, as he firmly met the speaker’s peculiar gaze.Leoni turned from him, walked slowly to the outer door, opened it as if about to pass out, and then closed it again, to return quickly to his two companions, and whispering softly in so low a voice that it was hard to hear:“By taking his place while he escapes, and personating him as he lies here bandaged, his face half hidden in the shadows of the heavy hangings of the bed in this darkened room.”“I am ready,” said Saint Simon huskily.“And I!” cried Denis. “But—the Comte?”“I have thought of that,” said Leoni. “He is too ill to understand what is done, and I can mould him to my wishes in every way. We are free, as his servants, to come and go from the chamber, and there may be ways by which we can escape—three of us—that is, the Comte and two followers, while one brave devotee assumes his master’s aspect as a wounded man. It may be days before the discovery takes place, and by that time all may be safe. Denis, boy, will you do this thing and be for the time being the simulacrum of him we serve? Good: your face speaks. I knew it. It is not a question of likeness, but of wearing a heavy bandage that will nearly hide your face.”There was silence for a moment, and then Leoni spoke again.“What about the way?” he said. “It is night now, but if we could gain the grounds—but how?”“The secret passage, sir,” whispered Denis. “It availed once, why not again?”“The passage!” cried Leoni. “No; once used, they will guard it safely now. But stop; they do not know that we escaped that way, and it might prove as sure an exit as it did before. I have seen no guard in that corridor since our return.”“Nor I,” said Denis eagerly.“But how to pass the gates?” said Leoni thoughtfully.“There is no need,” cried Denis. “Follow the narrow alley leading downward to the river, and take the boat of which young Carrbroke spoke. The river! Surely you could escape that way.”“Boy,” whispered Leoni ecstatically, “you are the deliverer of France! Hah!” he added, in tones full of regret. “And you will not be with us! The river—yes. They would never dream that we escaped that way. Quick, then. There is not a moment to be lost. You will not flinch?”“I? No!” whispered Denis proudly.“Quick, then! The darkness is the best disguise.” And leading the way into the sleeping chamber, he busied himself with torn-up linen and scarf, preparing the semblance of bandages, while Denis unbuckled his sword-belt and hurriedly threw off his doublet.A few minutes sufficed for the skilful hands of Leoni to strap and bandage the gallant lad’s features, leaving him standing on one side of the bed while he went to the other to draw back the coverlet.In obedience to the thought that flashed through his brain the lad bent quickly forward, caught at the King’s hand and raised it eagerly to his lips, half rousing him, to mutter in his sleep, while Leoni took out and unscrewed his little flask and applied it to the King’s lips.“Drink this, sir,” he said, and in strict obedience to his medical attendant, the sick man drank till the vessel was withdrawn.“Ah!” exclaimed Francis wearily. “I am not well, Leoni. We pay dearly for our adventure. But we will hunt to-morrow at Fontainebleau. Is it not so? Call the Master of the Chase.”“You may do so, sir. But you feel stronger now?”“Yes, yes.”“Then come, sir.” And Leoni snatched the cloak which Denis had thrown on a chair and wrapped it round the King. “We will start at once, sir.”“Yes,” said Francis, “we will start at once—at once.” And he leaned heavily on Leoni’s arm, while the latter drew the heavily plumed hat which the boy handed him lower over the King’s features.Denis accompanied them to the door.“Farewell,” he said.Leoni turned and gazed at him, and for a second the saturnine expression faded and a look of tenderness came over his features.“Until we meet again,” he whispered.Then the door closed and the lad stood wondering whether the plan would succeed, whether the King would on the morrow be far on his way to the sea.The next minute he was in the inner chamber by a mirror, smiling at himself, before plunging into the King’s place, turning on his side, and drawing the coverlet right up to his ears.
The doctor lost no time in thought, but returned to the outer apartment which he had quitted only a few minutes before, to find that Saint Simon had joined Denis and was watching by the bed where Francis lay insensible.
“We must act at once,” he said, as they joined him and he gazed at a narrow window through which the moonlight came. “Our King is in danger of his life.”
Denis’s hand went to his sword.
“We will fight to the last,” he said, “and die.”
“Boy!” exclaimed Leoni contemptuously. “Fight and die! Better act with craft and live. What! Would you fight an army? Bah! It is not by that means that we can save his Majesty from this perilous pass.”
“Then how?” asked Denis. “Order me to do anything and I will obey.”
“I know,” said Leoni thoughtfully; “I know.” And he took a pace or two up and down the apartment with his eyes fixed on the floor, while the two young men watched him narrowly, seeming to be endeavouring to read his innermost thoughts, the ideas which surged within.
“There is but one thing to be done,” said Leoni at last gravely. “Francis is ill and closely guarded, and his life is doubly in danger, for Henry’s intentions are lad.” And as he spoke he looked hard at Denis, who said not a word.
“And what is that one thing?” asked Saint Simon.
Leoni thought a minute or two before replying.
“It is this,” he said at length quietly. “We his followers are free to go where we list, and Francis must be saved. I, alas, can be nothing in my plan; but you,” he went on, looking direct at Saint Simon, “or Denis, might save the King.”
“How?” exclaimed Denis again, as he firmly met the speaker’s peculiar gaze.
Leoni turned from him, walked slowly to the outer door, opened it as if about to pass out, and then closed it again, to return quickly to his two companions, and whispering softly in so low a voice that it was hard to hear:
“By taking his place while he escapes, and personating him as he lies here bandaged, his face half hidden in the shadows of the heavy hangings of the bed in this darkened room.”
“I am ready,” said Saint Simon huskily.
“And I!” cried Denis. “But—the Comte?”
“I have thought of that,” said Leoni. “He is too ill to understand what is done, and I can mould him to my wishes in every way. We are free, as his servants, to come and go from the chamber, and there may be ways by which we can escape—three of us—that is, the Comte and two followers, while one brave devotee assumes his master’s aspect as a wounded man. It may be days before the discovery takes place, and by that time all may be safe. Denis, boy, will you do this thing and be for the time being the simulacrum of him we serve? Good: your face speaks. I knew it. It is not a question of likeness, but of wearing a heavy bandage that will nearly hide your face.”
There was silence for a moment, and then Leoni spoke again.
“What about the way?” he said. “It is night now, but if we could gain the grounds—but how?”
“The secret passage, sir,” whispered Denis. “It availed once, why not again?”
“The passage!” cried Leoni. “No; once used, they will guard it safely now. But stop; they do not know that we escaped that way, and it might prove as sure an exit as it did before. I have seen no guard in that corridor since our return.”
“Nor I,” said Denis eagerly.
“But how to pass the gates?” said Leoni thoughtfully.
“There is no need,” cried Denis. “Follow the narrow alley leading downward to the river, and take the boat of which young Carrbroke spoke. The river! Surely you could escape that way.”
“Boy,” whispered Leoni ecstatically, “you are the deliverer of France! Hah!” he added, in tones full of regret. “And you will not be with us! The river—yes. They would never dream that we escaped that way. Quick, then. There is not a moment to be lost. You will not flinch?”
“I? No!” whispered Denis proudly.
“Quick, then! The darkness is the best disguise.” And leading the way into the sleeping chamber, he busied himself with torn-up linen and scarf, preparing the semblance of bandages, while Denis unbuckled his sword-belt and hurriedly threw off his doublet.
A few minutes sufficed for the skilful hands of Leoni to strap and bandage the gallant lad’s features, leaving him standing on one side of the bed while he went to the other to draw back the coverlet.
In obedience to the thought that flashed through his brain the lad bent quickly forward, caught at the King’s hand and raised it eagerly to his lips, half rousing him, to mutter in his sleep, while Leoni took out and unscrewed his little flask and applied it to the King’s lips.
“Drink this, sir,” he said, and in strict obedience to his medical attendant, the sick man drank till the vessel was withdrawn.
“Ah!” exclaimed Francis wearily. “I am not well, Leoni. We pay dearly for our adventure. But we will hunt to-morrow at Fontainebleau. Is it not so? Call the Master of the Chase.”
“You may do so, sir. But you feel stronger now?”
“Yes, yes.”
“Then come, sir.” And Leoni snatched the cloak which Denis had thrown on a chair and wrapped it round the King. “We will start at once, sir.”
“Yes,” said Francis, “we will start at once—at once.” And he leaned heavily on Leoni’s arm, while the latter drew the heavily plumed hat which the boy handed him lower over the King’s features.
Denis accompanied them to the door.
“Farewell,” he said.
Leoni turned and gazed at him, and for a second the saturnine expression faded and a look of tenderness came over his features.
“Until we meet again,” he whispered.
Then the door closed and the lad stood wondering whether the plan would succeed, whether the King would on the morrow be far on his way to the sea.
The next minute he was in the inner chamber by a mirror, smiling at himself, before plunging into the King’s place, turning on his side, and drawing the coverlet right up to his ears.
Chapter Forty One.A visitor for a patient.The time up to the closing of the chamber door had been one of wild excitement. There was the disguise, and then the scene of preparing Francis for another flight, his helplessness, and the calm, unresisting way in which he had yielded himself to Leoni’s hands.Then came the departure, the farewell of Leoni, whom at times he seemed to shrink from with dislike, almost with dread, but only to feel himself won back again, attracted by the doctor’s manner and his manifest liking for his young companion.Then there was the closing of the door, which seemed to cut the lad off from his friends and leave him, as he threw himself wearily into the bed to lie there alone in the darkness, face to face with a horror which chilled him through and through.For in his chivalrous excitement which thrilled him with a feeling that he was about to do a most gallant thing in the service of his King, he seemed to have no time to think; but now in the silence and gloom of that solitary inner room, there was time for thought, time for his feelings to be harrowed by the knowledge of what was to come, and as he lay there he began to picture to himself how it would all be.How soon he knew not, but before long some one would come, miss the King’s attendants, inquiry would be made, and possibly the supposed Comte, lying wounded in the bed, would be sharply questioned as to the whereabouts of his doctor and gentlemen.“What shall I do?” thought Denis. “I must keep up the semblance of being the King. I am supposed to be very ill, and I can pretend to be insensible. That will all gain time if I refuse to speak; and those who come will never for a moment think that the King’s attendants have left him helpless here—far less fancy that they have escaped.“But have they escaped?” thought the lad; and in his excitement the perspiration broke out upon his brow, as he lay wondering whether they had found the private passage unfastened and won their way through to the gardens, so as to pass unnoticed along the alleys and down to the river steps and boat.“No,” he thought. “Impossible. The people here would surely have securely fastened up that way, and the King has been captured; and with such an enemy as Henry what will be his fate?”For some time he gave these thoughts firm harbour, but at last his common sense prevailed. The idea was absurd, he told himself. If the little party had been seized while making their escape the whole castle would have been in an uproar, full of wild excitement, with the hurrying to and fro of steps, especially the heavy tramp and clash of the guards, instead of which all was horribly still, while the candles burning in a couple of sconces were hidden from his sight by the heavy hangings of the bed, so that he lay there alone in the deep gloom.There were moments when the shadows cast by the lights seemed to take form and move, making him feel that he could lie there no longer, that he must spring out of bed to face bravely these weird and shadowy forms, and convince himself that he really was alone, and merely a prey to a childish superstitious dread brought about by the horror of his position.It was hard to bear, and required a heavy call upon his manliness to force back these fancies and prepare himself to play his part when the crucial time came of some one visiting the room and finding that the Comte’s attendants were no longer there.“It is for the King of France!” he muttered, when at last the dread and horror of his position had culminated in a feverish fit that seemed as if it would end by his springing out of bed, tearing off the mockery of his disguise, and hurrying through the outer chamber into the corridor to seek the company of the nearest guards.“It means hastening the discovery,” he muttered, “but I can bear this no longer. It is too much.”He lay panting heavily for some few moments before a reaction came, following quickly upon the one question he asked himself, contained in that one little word:“Why?”He began breathing more easily the next moment, for the weak boy had mastered, and manliness was coming to his aid.“Oh,” he muttered to himself, “am I to be as cowardly as a girl? It is too childish. Afraid of shadows, shrinking from lying alone in the dark! Why, I shall fancy next that I shall be afraid to lie here with the sun shining brightly, through the panes. What difference is there between the light and darkness? I can make it black darkness even at noonday if I close my eyes. I know why it is. I am tired and faint. There is no danger—for me. The danger is to the King. This is only a trick, a masquerade. Sooner or later I shall be found out. But what then? I am only a lad, and this King Harry would be a bloodthirsty monster if he had me slain for what is after all only a boyish prank. I have nothing to do but lie here quite still, as if a sick man, and very bad. They will find out at last. Well, let them. I am utterly tired out with all I have gone through. My head is as weary as my bones, and now all this weak cowardice has gone I am going to do what I should do here in bed, and go to sleep.“Oh, impossible! Impossible!” muttered the lad wearily. “Who could sleep at such a time as this?”He rose upon his elbow and said those words in a hoarse whisper, as if he were questioning the shadows that surrounded the great curtained bed.There was no reply from the weird and shadowy forms, uncouth, strange, and distorted; but he answered his piteous, despairing question himself.“I can,” he said, “and—”There was a pause of a few moments, and then he muttered between his set teeth:”—and I will.”With a quick movement he drove his clenched fist two or three times into the great down pillow, making it purl up into a hillock, upon which he laid his cheek, and into which it softly sank, while, closing his eyes, he strove to force himself into a heavy sleep, till his strong effort joined with his bodily weariness, and he sank into a deep dreamless trance.How long this lasted he never knew, but all at once he lay wide awake and wondering, striving to realise where he was, and what the meaning of that heavy distant tramp, tramp, as of soldiery coming nearer and nearer, till it ceased outside the farther door in obedience to a hoarse command.There was another order, followed by a close fusillade-like sound of the butts of halberds planted upon the floor. Then a few moments’ silence, and as the lad strained his eyes in the direction of the doors, that farthest was suddenly flung open and the outer chamber was filled with light which emphasised the gloom of the inner, where, fully alive to his position, Denis lay still, closing his eyes and pressing his face farther into the pillow, as a stern voice shouted as if in warning, for all to hear: “His Majesty the King!”
The time up to the closing of the chamber door had been one of wild excitement. There was the disguise, and then the scene of preparing Francis for another flight, his helplessness, and the calm, unresisting way in which he had yielded himself to Leoni’s hands.
Then came the departure, the farewell of Leoni, whom at times he seemed to shrink from with dislike, almost with dread, but only to feel himself won back again, attracted by the doctor’s manner and his manifest liking for his young companion.
Then there was the closing of the door, which seemed to cut the lad off from his friends and leave him, as he threw himself wearily into the bed to lie there alone in the darkness, face to face with a horror which chilled him through and through.
For in his chivalrous excitement which thrilled him with a feeling that he was about to do a most gallant thing in the service of his King, he seemed to have no time to think; but now in the silence and gloom of that solitary inner room, there was time for thought, time for his feelings to be harrowed by the knowledge of what was to come, and as he lay there he began to picture to himself how it would all be.
How soon he knew not, but before long some one would come, miss the King’s attendants, inquiry would be made, and possibly the supposed Comte, lying wounded in the bed, would be sharply questioned as to the whereabouts of his doctor and gentlemen.
“What shall I do?” thought Denis. “I must keep up the semblance of being the King. I am supposed to be very ill, and I can pretend to be insensible. That will all gain time if I refuse to speak; and those who come will never for a moment think that the King’s attendants have left him helpless here—far less fancy that they have escaped.
“But have they escaped?” thought the lad; and in his excitement the perspiration broke out upon his brow, as he lay wondering whether they had found the private passage unfastened and won their way through to the gardens, so as to pass unnoticed along the alleys and down to the river steps and boat.
“No,” he thought. “Impossible. The people here would surely have securely fastened up that way, and the King has been captured; and with such an enemy as Henry what will be his fate?”
For some time he gave these thoughts firm harbour, but at last his common sense prevailed. The idea was absurd, he told himself. If the little party had been seized while making their escape the whole castle would have been in an uproar, full of wild excitement, with the hurrying to and fro of steps, especially the heavy tramp and clash of the guards, instead of which all was horribly still, while the candles burning in a couple of sconces were hidden from his sight by the heavy hangings of the bed, so that he lay there alone in the deep gloom.
There were moments when the shadows cast by the lights seemed to take form and move, making him feel that he could lie there no longer, that he must spring out of bed to face bravely these weird and shadowy forms, and convince himself that he really was alone, and merely a prey to a childish superstitious dread brought about by the horror of his position.
It was hard to bear, and required a heavy call upon his manliness to force back these fancies and prepare himself to play his part when the crucial time came of some one visiting the room and finding that the Comte’s attendants were no longer there.
“It is for the King of France!” he muttered, when at last the dread and horror of his position had culminated in a feverish fit that seemed as if it would end by his springing out of bed, tearing off the mockery of his disguise, and hurrying through the outer chamber into the corridor to seek the company of the nearest guards.
“It means hastening the discovery,” he muttered, “but I can bear this no longer. It is too much.”
He lay panting heavily for some few moments before a reaction came, following quickly upon the one question he asked himself, contained in that one little word:
“Why?”
He began breathing more easily the next moment, for the weak boy had mastered, and manliness was coming to his aid.
“Oh,” he muttered to himself, “am I to be as cowardly as a girl? It is too childish. Afraid of shadows, shrinking from lying alone in the dark! Why, I shall fancy next that I shall be afraid to lie here with the sun shining brightly, through the panes. What difference is there between the light and darkness? I can make it black darkness even at noonday if I close my eyes. I know why it is. I am tired and faint. There is no danger—for me. The danger is to the King. This is only a trick, a masquerade. Sooner or later I shall be found out. But what then? I am only a lad, and this King Harry would be a bloodthirsty monster if he had me slain for what is after all only a boyish prank. I have nothing to do but lie here quite still, as if a sick man, and very bad. They will find out at last. Well, let them. I am utterly tired out with all I have gone through. My head is as weary as my bones, and now all this weak cowardice has gone I am going to do what I should do here in bed, and go to sleep.
“Oh, impossible! Impossible!” muttered the lad wearily. “Who could sleep at such a time as this?”
He rose upon his elbow and said those words in a hoarse whisper, as if he were questioning the shadows that surrounded the great curtained bed.
There was no reply from the weird and shadowy forms, uncouth, strange, and distorted; but he answered his piteous, despairing question himself.
“I can,” he said, “and—”
There was a pause of a few moments, and then he muttered between his set teeth:
”—and I will.”
With a quick movement he drove his clenched fist two or three times into the great down pillow, making it purl up into a hillock, upon which he laid his cheek, and into which it softly sank, while, closing his eyes, he strove to force himself into a heavy sleep, till his strong effort joined with his bodily weariness, and he sank into a deep dreamless trance.
How long this lasted he never knew, but all at once he lay wide awake and wondering, striving to realise where he was, and what the meaning of that heavy distant tramp, tramp, as of soldiery coming nearer and nearer, till it ceased outside the farther door in obedience to a hoarse command.
There was another order, followed by a close fusillade-like sound of the butts of halberds planted upon the floor. Then a few moments’ silence, and as the lad strained his eyes in the direction of the doors, that farthest was suddenly flung open and the outer chamber was filled with light which emphasised the gloom of the inner, where, fully alive to his position, Denis lay still, closing his eyes and pressing his face farther into the pillow, as a stern voice shouted as if in warning, for all to hear: “His Majesty the King!”
Chapter Forty Two.In the gloomy gallery.Leoni was the moving spirit of the adventure of what he felt to be another daring attempt to escape; for Francis, under the influence of the medicament that he had administered, was like a puppet in his hands; while Saint Simon, big, manly, and strong, ready to draw and attack any who should bar their way, spoke no word, but followed his leader’s every gesture watchfully, suggesting nothing, doing nothing save that exactly which he was told.As they stood outside the door and began to move along the corridor, the place looked so lonely and the task so ridiculously easy, that the scheming, subtle doctor’s heart smote him with a feeling of remorse.It seemed to be so cruel, so cowardly, to escape and leave that brave lad, who was ready to sacrifice his life in his master’s service, alone there with his despair, waiting for the discovery that would probably end with his death.“Pish!” said Leoni to himself. “What is the boy to me? Nothing more than a pawn upon the chessboard of life, one of the pieces I am using for the sake of France—France, my country, for which I have ventured this. For what is this gay butterfly? King? Yes, the King upon the chessboard, whom it is my fate to move; and where I place him, there he stays. It is I, I in my calm, grave, unobtrusive way, who am the real King of France—now nearly at the pinnacle of my ambition, or shall be when I have achieved these last moves. And yet I am not happy. It jars upon me cruelly that I should have to leave this boy. Pooh! Absurd! I will not think about him,” he muttered; and then with a silent mocking laugh, “And yet what is he? Only, as I say, a pawn, which the necessities of the position force me to sacrifice.”These thoughts flashed like lightning through his brain, as, grasping the King’s arm with one hand, he waved the other in the air as if in the act of casting all these thoughts behind him. But he winced the more, for the thought of Denis alone there in the King’s chamber clung to him and seemed to press him down.But there was stern work awaiting him, for he would not, he could not believe that their escape could be as easy as it seemed. The corridor leading to the great gallery near the King’s apartment appeared perfectly deserted; neither guard nor gentleman in attendance seemed at hand to hinder their approach to the arras which hid the secret door. But he did not believe and he would not trust so impossible a state of things.Stopping suddenly close up to the panelled wall, he signed to Saint Simon to close up.“Take the King’s arm,” he said; “he needs support. I am going forward. If you can make me out and the signal I give, follow quickly on. But wait till I raise my hand.”He walked swiftly on, almost gliding like a shadow over the wall, for his footsteps made no sound, while as he passed one candle which gave out a feeble light a curious gleam flashed from one of his eyes.The next moment he was past, and right in the King’s gallery, still without seeing anything to hinder his signalling to Saint Simon, and reaching safely the spot opposite to the secret door.“If I were alone,” he thought, “I have but to cross here, pass behind the arras, make my way to the riverside, and then somehow I could, I would, reach France, with my country the richer for this night’s work. But there is the King,” he muttered softly; “there is the King.” And he pressed himself back against the tapestry, looking in his sombre garb, in the faint light of the great place, like one of the needlework figures in the hangings.But his heart was beating fast, for all at once and quite unexpected there was the sound of footsteps, so slow and measured that he knew they must be those of a sentry; and the next minute a tall figure, dimly seen, came in his measured way along the gallery, as if to pass him, while Leoni’s hand slowly glided towards the hilt of his sword and clutched it fast.He held his breath and nerved himself for the cat-like leap he was prepared to make as the sentinel came abreast, for he felt that it was impossible that the man could pass him without his being seen.But to the watcher’s intense astonishment the sentry stopped short in the centre of the gallery, when he was about a dozen yards away, turned upon his heel, and began to retrace his steps. Leoni on the instant judged that the man had come to the end of his beat, and if this were so the task seemed easy, for by seizing the minute when his back was turned and he was at the full extent of his monotonous tramp in the other direction, it seemed to the doctor that it would be easy to step across the gallery, raise the arras, and pass into the secret way.“One at a time,” muttered Leoni; “one at a time. Easy for us; but can I make my chief piece obey me and move alone?”The disposition was upon the watcher of the sentry to glide back at once to where he had left Saint Simon and the King; but he felt that he must make sure in this crisis of the adventure before he took his next step, and he waited, closely pressed up against the tapestry, looking more than ever like an embroidered figure, as the sentry halted far down the gallery, softened by distance into a mere shadow, turned, and resumed his pacing.The task seemed harder than ever to stand pressed there against the panelling, watching the coming of the stalwart guard, and it took all the doctor’s nerve and self-command to stand there so absolutely still of body, while his nerves and thoughts were moving with an intensity that literally thrilled.“Coming towards his death,” said Leoni mentally, as the man came on and on, gradually ceasing to be so shadow-like and dim as he advanced. “His life or mine. His life or mine. His life or mine,” something within him seemed to keep on saying, till the end of the sentry’s beat appeared to be quite over-passed and he was coming nearer, so near that Leoni felt he saw him at last and the crisis was there, when the man stopped, hesitated for a moment, then began pacing back just as before—but not quite, for almost as soon as his back was turned Leoni’s command over his nerves and muscles ceased, and he began to glide silently along by the tapestried panels to reach Saint Simon and the King at last.No word was spoken now but the single one “Follow,” as Leoni softly took the King’s hand and led him over the ground he so lately had traversed, pausing after a time as the trio came within sight of the sentry, and standing close up against the wall, to wait till the man reached his nearest point to the secret door to turn in his automaton-like fashion and begin marching back.Leoni waited till the sentry half covered the distance he had to traverse, and then led the King swiftly and silently till they were nearly opposite the panel door, to pause once more—three shadowy figures now—to wait there during the most crucial time, for the great test was now at hand.Could he trust the King to remain silent till the man turned back—if he did turn back without distinguishing that he was not alone in the gloomy gallery?But Leoni was a man of resource, and to meet this difficulty he bade Saint Simon lie down at full-length close to the wall, while he pressed the King behind the pedestal of a statue standing in a niche a few yards away.It was a great risk, but the King seemed plunged in a deep sleep, and at a time like that something had to be risked. It was the daring of the plan that carried it through, and the fact that the sentry’s perceptions were dulled by habit. Hence it was that he came on, gazing introspectively and seeing nothing but his own thoughts, which were of the near approaching time when he would be relieved, and return to the guard chamber, supper, and sleep.Leoni hardly breathed as once more he watched the man come on nearer and nearer, apparently to his death, for this time Leoni softly drew the keen stiletto that he wore, and crouched ready to ensure silence and save the King if he were driven to the last extremity. But that was not to be.The man came to the full extent of his paced-out beat, turned, and marched back, while before he was half the distance to the other end the doctor had glided across the gallery, raised the arras, and pressed the boss, fully expecting to find that the door was fast; but it yielded silently, and the doctor’s heart leaped as he drew in a long deep breath of cool moist air.Dropping the arras, he stood for a moment gazing after the shadowy sentry, feeling startled to see how far he was still from the end of his beat; and, acting contrary to the mode he had planned in his determination to seize this opportunity if it could be done, he glided swiftly across to where the King was standing, and caught him by the arm.“Come,” he whispered, with his lips to Francis’s ear, when the King yielded as if he were a portion of the speaker’s self, walking with him silently till they were half across the gallery, when all at once a bright light threw up into bold relief the figure of the sentry at the far limit of his tramp, and the two fugitives stood out plainly before Saint Simon like two black silhouettes upon the distant glow.“Lost!” sighed Leoni, as, utterly unnerved, he stood tightly pressing the King’s wrist, unable even to stir, but listening to the sounds of voices which came weirdly and whispering along the gallery—challenge, reply, and order of the changing guard.Before recalling the fact that the bearers of the light were hardly likely to discern them at so great a distance, he recovered himself and pressed on towards the door and raised the tapestry, when without word of direction Francis passed through, followed by Leoni, and the arras was dropped.“Saint Simon,” muttered the doctor, as without closing the door he led the King onward for about a dozen yards, before returning to the open door with the intention of kneeling down to raise the hangings slightly and watch.“Must I leave him behind—another?” he muttered; and then he started, to clap his hand to his dagger again and prepare to strike, for there was a faint rustling sound from the open door and then the faintest of faint clicks, followed by the expiration of a heavy breath as from one who could contain it no longer.Leoni stood with his arm raised on high and his stiletto pointing downwards. The next moment it had dropped to his side, for from out of the darkness in front there came the whispered words:“Are you there?”“Saint Simon!” cried the doctor, not beneath his breath, for he was too much excited by his surprise to control his emotion, as he stretched out his left hand to grip his follower by the arm. “I did not expect this,” he muttered.“Too dangerous to stay,” said Saint Simon.“Yes, and you were right; it was bravely done.”“But what about the garden door? It will be fast.”“The saints forbid!” muttered Leoni. “Follow and attend the Comte. I will go on first and see.”He glided on with extended hands, expecting momentarily to touch the King, but did not overtake him till the little landing was reached, where Francis was standing at the head of the flight of steps.Leoni pressed past him and began to descend, holding his master once more by the hand, which he dropped as soon as they were at the foot, and then passed on rapidly with his pulses throbbing and in a state of ungovernable excitement such as he had not felt since the commencement of the adventure.But this was of short duration. Schooled now by previous experience, Leoni ran his hand along close to the angle at the top of the wall upon his left, expecting moment by moment that it would come in contact with the ledge. He was quite right. It did, and glided into the niche, when a chill seized upon his heart and made it cease its heavy beat.The niche was empty!By the King’s orders the outer door must have been locked, and they were prisoners as fast as ever, unless some other scheme could be devised.For a few brief moments Leoni gave way to despair. Then with an angry ejaculation he pressed on with extended hands, covered the few yards more that had to be passed before the door was reached, touched it, and swept his hands towards the lock, and once more no longer in full command of his faculties, he uttered a faint cry of joy.The key was in the lock.
Leoni was the moving spirit of the adventure of what he felt to be another daring attempt to escape; for Francis, under the influence of the medicament that he had administered, was like a puppet in his hands; while Saint Simon, big, manly, and strong, ready to draw and attack any who should bar their way, spoke no word, but followed his leader’s every gesture watchfully, suggesting nothing, doing nothing save that exactly which he was told.
As they stood outside the door and began to move along the corridor, the place looked so lonely and the task so ridiculously easy, that the scheming, subtle doctor’s heart smote him with a feeling of remorse.
It seemed to be so cruel, so cowardly, to escape and leave that brave lad, who was ready to sacrifice his life in his master’s service, alone there with his despair, waiting for the discovery that would probably end with his death.
“Pish!” said Leoni to himself. “What is the boy to me? Nothing more than a pawn upon the chessboard of life, one of the pieces I am using for the sake of France—France, my country, for which I have ventured this. For what is this gay butterfly? King? Yes, the King upon the chessboard, whom it is my fate to move; and where I place him, there he stays. It is I, I in my calm, grave, unobtrusive way, who am the real King of France—now nearly at the pinnacle of my ambition, or shall be when I have achieved these last moves. And yet I am not happy. It jars upon me cruelly that I should have to leave this boy. Pooh! Absurd! I will not think about him,” he muttered; and then with a silent mocking laugh, “And yet what is he? Only, as I say, a pawn, which the necessities of the position force me to sacrifice.”
These thoughts flashed like lightning through his brain, as, grasping the King’s arm with one hand, he waved the other in the air as if in the act of casting all these thoughts behind him. But he winced the more, for the thought of Denis alone there in the King’s chamber clung to him and seemed to press him down.
But there was stern work awaiting him, for he would not, he could not believe that their escape could be as easy as it seemed. The corridor leading to the great gallery near the King’s apartment appeared perfectly deserted; neither guard nor gentleman in attendance seemed at hand to hinder their approach to the arras which hid the secret door. But he did not believe and he would not trust so impossible a state of things.
Stopping suddenly close up to the panelled wall, he signed to Saint Simon to close up.
“Take the King’s arm,” he said; “he needs support. I am going forward. If you can make me out and the signal I give, follow quickly on. But wait till I raise my hand.”
He walked swiftly on, almost gliding like a shadow over the wall, for his footsteps made no sound, while as he passed one candle which gave out a feeble light a curious gleam flashed from one of his eyes.
The next moment he was past, and right in the King’s gallery, still without seeing anything to hinder his signalling to Saint Simon, and reaching safely the spot opposite to the secret door.
“If I were alone,” he thought, “I have but to cross here, pass behind the arras, make my way to the riverside, and then somehow I could, I would, reach France, with my country the richer for this night’s work. But there is the King,” he muttered softly; “there is the King.” And he pressed himself back against the tapestry, looking in his sombre garb, in the faint light of the great place, like one of the needlework figures in the hangings.
But his heart was beating fast, for all at once and quite unexpected there was the sound of footsteps, so slow and measured that he knew they must be those of a sentry; and the next minute a tall figure, dimly seen, came in his measured way along the gallery, as if to pass him, while Leoni’s hand slowly glided towards the hilt of his sword and clutched it fast.
He held his breath and nerved himself for the cat-like leap he was prepared to make as the sentinel came abreast, for he felt that it was impossible that the man could pass him without his being seen.
But to the watcher’s intense astonishment the sentry stopped short in the centre of the gallery, when he was about a dozen yards away, turned upon his heel, and began to retrace his steps. Leoni on the instant judged that the man had come to the end of his beat, and if this were so the task seemed easy, for by seizing the minute when his back was turned and he was at the full extent of his monotonous tramp in the other direction, it seemed to the doctor that it would be easy to step across the gallery, raise the arras, and pass into the secret way.
“One at a time,” muttered Leoni; “one at a time. Easy for us; but can I make my chief piece obey me and move alone?”
The disposition was upon the watcher of the sentry to glide back at once to where he had left Saint Simon and the King; but he felt that he must make sure in this crisis of the adventure before he took his next step, and he waited, closely pressed up against the tapestry, looking more than ever like an embroidered figure, as the sentry halted far down the gallery, softened by distance into a mere shadow, turned, and resumed his pacing.
The task seemed harder than ever to stand pressed there against the panelling, watching the coming of the stalwart guard, and it took all the doctor’s nerve and self-command to stand there so absolutely still of body, while his nerves and thoughts were moving with an intensity that literally thrilled.
“Coming towards his death,” said Leoni mentally, as the man came on and on, gradually ceasing to be so shadow-like and dim as he advanced. “His life or mine. His life or mine. His life or mine,” something within him seemed to keep on saying, till the end of the sentry’s beat appeared to be quite over-passed and he was coming nearer, so near that Leoni felt he saw him at last and the crisis was there, when the man stopped, hesitated for a moment, then began pacing back just as before—but not quite, for almost as soon as his back was turned Leoni’s command over his nerves and muscles ceased, and he began to glide silently along by the tapestried panels to reach Saint Simon and the King at last.
No word was spoken now but the single one “Follow,” as Leoni softly took the King’s hand and led him over the ground he so lately had traversed, pausing after a time as the trio came within sight of the sentry, and standing close up against the wall, to wait till the man reached his nearest point to the secret door to turn in his automaton-like fashion and begin marching back.
Leoni waited till the sentry half covered the distance he had to traverse, and then led the King swiftly and silently till they were nearly opposite the panel door, to pause once more—three shadowy figures now—to wait there during the most crucial time, for the great test was now at hand.
Could he trust the King to remain silent till the man turned back—if he did turn back without distinguishing that he was not alone in the gloomy gallery?
But Leoni was a man of resource, and to meet this difficulty he bade Saint Simon lie down at full-length close to the wall, while he pressed the King behind the pedestal of a statue standing in a niche a few yards away.
It was a great risk, but the King seemed plunged in a deep sleep, and at a time like that something had to be risked. It was the daring of the plan that carried it through, and the fact that the sentry’s perceptions were dulled by habit. Hence it was that he came on, gazing introspectively and seeing nothing but his own thoughts, which were of the near approaching time when he would be relieved, and return to the guard chamber, supper, and sleep.
Leoni hardly breathed as once more he watched the man come on nearer and nearer, apparently to his death, for this time Leoni softly drew the keen stiletto that he wore, and crouched ready to ensure silence and save the King if he were driven to the last extremity. But that was not to be.
The man came to the full extent of his paced-out beat, turned, and marched back, while before he was half the distance to the other end the doctor had glided across the gallery, raised the arras, and pressed the boss, fully expecting to find that the door was fast; but it yielded silently, and the doctor’s heart leaped as he drew in a long deep breath of cool moist air.
Dropping the arras, he stood for a moment gazing after the shadowy sentry, feeling startled to see how far he was still from the end of his beat; and, acting contrary to the mode he had planned in his determination to seize this opportunity if it could be done, he glided swiftly across to where the King was standing, and caught him by the arm.
“Come,” he whispered, with his lips to Francis’s ear, when the King yielded as if he were a portion of the speaker’s self, walking with him silently till they were half across the gallery, when all at once a bright light threw up into bold relief the figure of the sentry at the far limit of his tramp, and the two fugitives stood out plainly before Saint Simon like two black silhouettes upon the distant glow.
“Lost!” sighed Leoni, as, utterly unnerved, he stood tightly pressing the King’s wrist, unable even to stir, but listening to the sounds of voices which came weirdly and whispering along the gallery—challenge, reply, and order of the changing guard.
Before recalling the fact that the bearers of the light were hardly likely to discern them at so great a distance, he recovered himself and pressed on towards the door and raised the tapestry, when without word of direction Francis passed through, followed by Leoni, and the arras was dropped.
“Saint Simon,” muttered the doctor, as without closing the door he led the King onward for about a dozen yards, before returning to the open door with the intention of kneeling down to raise the hangings slightly and watch.
“Must I leave him behind—another?” he muttered; and then he started, to clap his hand to his dagger again and prepare to strike, for there was a faint rustling sound from the open door and then the faintest of faint clicks, followed by the expiration of a heavy breath as from one who could contain it no longer.
Leoni stood with his arm raised on high and his stiletto pointing downwards. The next moment it had dropped to his side, for from out of the darkness in front there came the whispered words:
“Are you there?”
“Saint Simon!” cried the doctor, not beneath his breath, for he was too much excited by his surprise to control his emotion, as he stretched out his left hand to grip his follower by the arm. “I did not expect this,” he muttered.
“Too dangerous to stay,” said Saint Simon.
“Yes, and you were right; it was bravely done.”
“But what about the garden door? It will be fast.”
“The saints forbid!” muttered Leoni. “Follow and attend the Comte. I will go on first and see.”
He glided on with extended hands, expecting momentarily to touch the King, but did not overtake him till the little landing was reached, where Francis was standing at the head of the flight of steps.
Leoni pressed past him and began to descend, holding his master once more by the hand, which he dropped as soon as they were at the foot, and then passed on rapidly with his pulses throbbing and in a state of ungovernable excitement such as he had not felt since the commencement of the adventure.
But this was of short duration. Schooled now by previous experience, Leoni ran his hand along close to the angle at the top of the wall upon his left, expecting moment by moment that it would come in contact with the ledge. He was quite right. It did, and glided into the niche, when a chill seized upon his heart and made it cease its heavy beat.
The niche was empty!
By the King’s orders the outer door must have been locked, and they were prisoners as fast as ever, unless some other scheme could be devised.
For a few brief moments Leoni gave way to despair. Then with an angry ejaculation he pressed on with extended hands, covered the few yards more that had to be passed before the door was reached, touched it, and swept his hands towards the lock, and once more no longer in full command of his faculties, he uttered a faint cry of joy.
The key was in the lock.
Chapter Forty Three.King Denis refuses.Denis’s heart beat wildly for a few moments, as he asked himself should he be asleep or waking; but the heavy beating calmed down at once as he heard the King’s slow footsteps in the outer room, and then the question in the now well-known voice:“No attendants?”“No, Sire. I presume he is asleep.”“Then I must awake him,” said the King sternly; “but my business is with him alone. Go, and retire the guards. I will summon you when I have done.”“But, your Majesty—”“Silence! Can I not defend myself were it necessary against a wounded man? Go, and at once!”The chamberlain, whose voice Denis had recognised at once, retired in silence.There was the trampling of the guards, the closing of the outer door, and then as Denis lay listening all was still, while he began counting the slow heavy beating of his heart.“What will follow now?” he asked himself.He knew at once, for there was a slight cough, a heavy step, and the King strode through the dividing door into the chamber, stopped as if looking round for a moment, and then stepped round to the side of the great canopied bed, drew forward a chair, and seated himself between the recumbent prisoner and the window. Then he coughed again, but sharply and angrily this time.“You hear me, Comte de la Seine?” he said haughtily.It seemed to come naturally to the young esquire how to play his part—to gain all the time he could; and he slowly raised one hand and let it fall heavily back upon the coverlet.Henry was satisfied, and his tones bespoke it, as he said:“It is well, sir. I have stooped to pay you this visit—here this night, to remind you that by the way in which you have repaid my hospitality you have forfeited your life.”Denis raised his hand again, so that it came out of the shadow thrown by the curtains into the light cast by the candles right across the bed; and as the King sat there as if watching the effect of his words, the hand was waved carelessly in the air before it was allowed to descend.“Hah!” cried the King. “You are a Frenchman, sir, and you behave with all the flippancy of your race. I understand your gesture. It means recklessness. You, so to speak, tell me that you do not value your life. You defy me. But you will alter your tone when you are called upon to march in the middle of my guards to the headsman’s block, and suffer there for your crime.”There was a quick impatient gesture of the hand again.“We shall see,” continued the King, with his voice growing deeper, suggestive of the hot anger that was burning in his breast. “And now listen to me, M. le Comte de la Seine, as you call yourself. But you have not deceived me. I know everything, even to the reason why you have stooped to play the part of a common cutpurse.”Denis raised his hand again with an angry gesture, and Henry continued more loudly:“I repeat it, sir,” he cried; “a common cutpurse; and please understand that you are quite at my mercy. No one can save you but I. Now listen. Men call me merciless and tyrannical. Let them. I am also just, and can be merciful when I please. Are you ready to accept my mercy?”Denis raised his hand again quickly.“Hah! Good! Then it is in your power to act in a way that will command this mercy, possibly my forgiveness, and the continuance of the feeling of friendship that you, so brilliant and talented a man, have won.”Denis raised his hand again, as if in deprecation, feeling in spite of his perilous position something like amusement at the success attending the playing of hisrôle.“Oh yes,” continued the King; “you have proved yourself a man brilliant, courtly, and in every way fitted for the high position you held before you stooped to the wretched chicanery and folly which brought you to this pass. Now, sir, I tell you I am ready to be merciful and spare your life, but upon conditions; and these stipulations which I shall make, I tell you, you as my prisoner are bound to accept. You came here under false pretences to steal a jewel that was England’s by the right of conquest, making to yourself the excuse that originally it belonged to France. Is not this so?”Denis raised his hand again.“You do not speak,” said the King. “Well, knowing as I do that you were badly wounded by my faithful guards, and are now suffering severely for your crime, I am willing to accept a motion of your hand, a gesture, as your acceptation, as a reply. You see, sir, that all through this mad escapade Providence was working a means of compassing its righteous ends. You have fallen completely into my power, and either you submit to my terms or die.”Denis raised his hand quickly.“You mean an appeal for mercy,” cried the King. “Wait till you have heard my terms. They are these. I have here,” he continued, unfolding a paper, “a complete renunciation on the part of France of the city of Bordeaux with the towns and territories embraced by Guienne, lands that were won by the good sword of my predecessors, to have and hold for three hundred years, but which you now occupy on sufferance and by the magnanimity of the English throne, which has mercifully withheld itself from seizing them by an act of war.”Denis’s hand, now fully in the light, was extended for a moment, but sharply withdrawn, for the fingers to begin tapping impatiently upon the coverlet.“Ah, you hesitate!” cried Henry. “Let me tell you that it is no time for hesitation, and that I shall brook no argument, accept nothing but a full and sufficient resignation made now upon this paper, which needs but your act and deed made fully by the addition of your royal name.”Denis raised his hand slowly, and let it fall heavily upon the bed.“Hah!” cried the King, in a tone which evinced triumph and intense satisfaction, as he rose to his feet and walked slowly to a side-table standing beneath one of the sconces, upon which were writing materials ready to the visitor’s hand. “I am glad,” continued Henry, “that you are acting so wise a part. I might call in my chamberlain and others of my people to witness your surrender, but I will spare the feelings of a brother monarch who is completely in my hands. Your signature, Sire, will suffice.” And as he spoke he took up and dipped a pen and seized a book, to bear them in company with the paper he held to the side of the bed, where he spread the paper upon the work.“Now, Sire,” he continued, “at this moment we are enemies. Take this pen and add your royal name where I will place my finger, and I give you my kingly word that I will wipe out from the tablets of my memory the whole of your dastardly action, and become henceforth not only your brother of England, but your willing ally against all enemies who may rise up in an endeavour to imperil our thrones. There, Sire; I presume you are not too weak to write. Come: take the pen.”Denis, who was now nearly at his wits’ end how to continue the comedy, and beginning to flinch in his dismay at having gone so far, raised his hand slowly and closed his fingers upon the pen, while with a sigh of satisfaction Henry placed his index finger, upon which a large gem was glittering, upon the blank spot beneath that which he had written upon the paper.“Stop!” he cried suddenly. “I had forgotten. It is not written down there, but for it I will take your kingly word. You promise me to restore the jewel reft from my cabinet and hidden somewhere you best know where. Surely you can speak enough for this—the fewest words will do. You promise by your kingly word and all that is holy to restore that gem?”He ceased speaking, and to one of those present the silence in that room seemed more than awful, till Henry spoke again.“You hear me, sir? One word will do, and that word, Yes.”The answer made Henry start back in amaze, for, desperate now, and nerving himself to meet the crisis which might mean the sacrifice of his life, Denis with a quick flick of his fingers sent the fully feathered pen flying from the gloom of the hangings where he lay far out into the room.“What!” roared Henry. “You refuse?”“I refuse,” said Denis, in a hoarse whisper.“But why?” cried Henry, half suffocated by his anger.“Because,” cried the boy defiantly, “I am not the King.” And with a quick movement he threw back the coverlet, sprang from the bed, and tore off his bandages, to stand there in the full light in white shirt and trunk hose, scattering the wrappings which had disfigured his face, just as, startled in his turn and fully expecting an attack, Henry took a couple of steps backward and drew his sword.
Denis’s heart beat wildly for a few moments, as he asked himself should he be asleep or waking; but the heavy beating calmed down at once as he heard the King’s slow footsteps in the outer room, and then the question in the now well-known voice:
“No attendants?”
“No, Sire. I presume he is asleep.”
“Then I must awake him,” said the King sternly; “but my business is with him alone. Go, and retire the guards. I will summon you when I have done.”
“But, your Majesty—”
“Silence! Can I not defend myself were it necessary against a wounded man? Go, and at once!”
The chamberlain, whose voice Denis had recognised at once, retired in silence.
There was the trampling of the guards, the closing of the outer door, and then as Denis lay listening all was still, while he began counting the slow heavy beating of his heart.
“What will follow now?” he asked himself.
He knew at once, for there was a slight cough, a heavy step, and the King strode through the dividing door into the chamber, stopped as if looking round for a moment, and then stepped round to the side of the great canopied bed, drew forward a chair, and seated himself between the recumbent prisoner and the window. Then he coughed again, but sharply and angrily this time.
“You hear me, Comte de la Seine?” he said haughtily.
It seemed to come naturally to the young esquire how to play his part—to gain all the time he could; and he slowly raised one hand and let it fall heavily back upon the coverlet.
Henry was satisfied, and his tones bespoke it, as he said:
“It is well, sir. I have stooped to pay you this visit—here this night, to remind you that by the way in which you have repaid my hospitality you have forfeited your life.”
Denis raised his hand again, so that it came out of the shadow thrown by the curtains into the light cast by the candles right across the bed; and as the King sat there as if watching the effect of his words, the hand was waved carelessly in the air before it was allowed to descend.
“Hah!” cried the King. “You are a Frenchman, sir, and you behave with all the flippancy of your race. I understand your gesture. It means recklessness. You, so to speak, tell me that you do not value your life. You defy me. But you will alter your tone when you are called upon to march in the middle of my guards to the headsman’s block, and suffer there for your crime.”
There was a quick impatient gesture of the hand again.
“We shall see,” continued the King, with his voice growing deeper, suggestive of the hot anger that was burning in his breast. “And now listen to me, M. le Comte de la Seine, as you call yourself. But you have not deceived me. I know everything, even to the reason why you have stooped to play the part of a common cutpurse.”
Denis raised his hand again with an angry gesture, and Henry continued more loudly:
“I repeat it, sir,” he cried; “a common cutpurse; and please understand that you are quite at my mercy. No one can save you but I. Now listen. Men call me merciless and tyrannical. Let them. I am also just, and can be merciful when I please. Are you ready to accept my mercy?”
Denis raised his hand again quickly.
“Hah! Good! Then it is in your power to act in a way that will command this mercy, possibly my forgiveness, and the continuance of the feeling of friendship that you, so brilliant and talented a man, have won.”
Denis raised his hand again, as if in deprecation, feeling in spite of his perilous position something like amusement at the success attending the playing of hisrôle.
“Oh yes,” continued the King; “you have proved yourself a man brilliant, courtly, and in every way fitted for the high position you held before you stooped to the wretched chicanery and folly which brought you to this pass. Now, sir, I tell you I am ready to be merciful and spare your life, but upon conditions; and these stipulations which I shall make, I tell you, you as my prisoner are bound to accept. You came here under false pretences to steal a jewel that was England’s by the right of conquest, making to yourself the excuse that originally it belonged to France. Is not this so?”
Denis raised his hand again.
“You do not speak,” said the King. “Well, knowing as I do that you were badly wounded by my faithful guards, and are now suffering severely for your crime, I am willing to accept a motion of your hand, a gesture, as your acceptation, as a reply. You see, sir, that all through this mad escapade Providence was working a means of compassing its righteous ends. You have fallen completely into my power, and either you submit to my terms or die.”
Denis raised his hand quickly.
“You mean an appeal for mercy,” cried the King. “Wait till you have heard my terms. They are these. I have here,” he continued, unfolding a paper, “a complete renunciation on the part of France of the city of Bordeaux with the towns and territories embraced by Guienne, lands that were won by the good sword of my predecessors, to have and hold for three hundred years, but which you now occupy on sufferance and by the magnanimity of the English throne, which has mercifully withheld itself from seizing them by an act of war.”
Denis’s hand, now fully in the light, was extended for a moment, but sharply withdrawn, for the fingers to begin tapping impatiently upon the coverlet.
“Ah, you hesitate!” cried Henry. “Let me tell you that it is no time for hesitation, and that I shall brook no argument, accept nothing but a full and sufficient resignation made now upon this paper, which needs but your act and deed made fully by the addition of your royal name.”
Denis raised his hand slowly, and let it fall heavily upon the bed.
“Hah!” cried the King, in a tone which evinced triumph and intense satisfaction, as he rose to his feet and walked slowly to a side-table standing beneath one of the sconces, upon which were writing materials ready to the visitor’s hand. “I am glad,” continued Henry, “that you are acting so wise a part. I might call in my chamberlain and others of my people to witness your surrender, but I will spare the feelings of a brother monarch who is completely in my hands. Your signature, Sire, will suffice.” And as he spoke he took up and dipped a pen and seized a book, to bear them in company with the paper he held to the side of the bed, where he spread the paper upon the work.
“Now, Sire,” he continued, “at this moment we are enemies. Take this pen and add your royal name where I will place my finger, and I give you my kingly word that I will wipe out from the tablets of my memory the whole of your dastardly action, and become henceforth not only your brother of England, but your willing ally against all enemies who may rise up in an endeavour to imperil our thrones. There, Sire; I presume you are not too weak to write. Come: take the pen.”
Denis, who was now nearly at his wits’ end how to continue the comedy, and beginning to flinch in his dismay at having gone so far, raised his hand slowly and closed his fingers upon the pen, while with a sigh of satisfaction Henry placed his index finger, upon which a large gem was glittering, upon the blank spot beneath that which he had written upon the paper.
“Stop!” he cried suddenly. “I had forgotten. It is not written down there, but for it I will take your kingly word. You promise me to restore the jewel reft from my cabinet and hidden somewhere you best know where. Surely you can speak enough for this—the fewest words will do. You promise by your kingly word and all that is holy to restore that gem?”
He ceased speaking, and to one of those present the silence in that room seemed more than awful, till Henry spoke again.
“You hear me, sir? One word will do, and that word, Yes.”
The answer made Henry start back in amaze, for, desperate now, and nerving himself to meet the crisis which might mean the sacrifice of his life, Denis with a quick flick of his fingers sent the fully feathered pen flying from the gloom of the hangings where he lay far out into the room.
“What!” roared Henry. “You refuse?”
“I refuse,” said Denis, in a hoarse whisper.
“But why?” cried Henry, half suffocated by his anger.
“Because,” cried the boy defiantly, “I am not the King.” And with a quick movement he threw back the coverlet, sprang from the bed, and tore off his bandages, to stand there in the full light in white shirt and trunk hose, scattering the wrappings which had disfigured his face, just as, startled in his turn and fully expecting an attack, Henry took a couple of steps backward and drew his sword.