Chapter Twenty Six.

Chapter Twenty Six.So does Denis.It was the very next day that Denis, after his attendance upon Francis, who had gone to join Henry, was alone in the King’s apartments, standing in the deep recess of a casement window, which he had flung open, and was leaning out gazing at the landscape stretching far and wide before him, and giving him a silvery glimpse here and there of the bright glittering river.He was so lost in admiration of the scene that he did not hear the door open, and was only made conscious of some one being in the room behind him by hearing a low muttering voice say:“A blind search! A blind search! What shall I do next to bring it to an end?”Denis made a sharp movement, catching the sleeve of his doublet against the copper fastening which held open the casement; and as he turned a nervous hand suddenly seized him by the shoulder in a painful grasp, for it was as if fingers of steel were pressing into his flesh.“You, Master Leoni!” he cried, as the clutch was relaxed as quickly as it came. “Yes, my boy,” said the doctor; and the lad shivered slightly as the fierce fire in one of Leoni’s eyes died into a pleasant smile, though the cold fixed stare in the other remained the same as of old.“I thought I was alone.”“Well, boy; do you like your life here in the castle?”“Oh yes,” cried Denis; “but when are we to have, Carrbroke and I, another fencing lesson?”“At any time when the King does not require my services,” said Leoni, smiling. “Why, you will soon be a better swordsman than I.”“Oh, sir!” cried Denis deprecatingly.“Well, say as good, my dear boy, when you know all that I can teach you.”“And you will teach me all, sir?”“Of course, of course,” said the doctor, laying his hand caressingly on the boy’s shoulder. “You are a pupil of whom I feel proud. But tell me,” he continued, as he passed his hand softly along the muscles of the lad’s arm, “what about the stiffness and pain?”“All gone, sir. That salve you applied seemed to make it pass entirely away.”“That is good,” said the doctor, nodding his head. “But tell me, boy, was I speaking aloud when I came into the room?”“Not aloud, sir, but just so that I could hear what you said.”“Ah, a bad habit! And what did I say?”“It was something about a blind search.”“Ah, yes; and you guessed at once what I meant?”“Why, yes, sir. I immediately thought that you meant the—”With a quick movement, accompanied by a smile, Leoni’s long, thin, brown fingers were laid upon Denis’s lips.“Hist, boy! We are in King Henry’s palace, where walls may have ears. Speak it not. We understand one another, and know what in our master’s service we have come to seek. Denis, you are a boy in years, but I find you in many things a man at heart, and there should be no half confidences between us two. I like you, my boy, and always have, stern and cold and severe as I may have seemed. My face may have been hard, but there are moments when my heart is soft. Denis, my son, we are working for the King and for France, and so far I am at fault. I thought my task would be so easy that, once here, that which we seek would be within my grasp; and so far it seems beyond me, while the golden hours glide swiftly away, and before many days have passed our visit with all its risks must have an end. I shiver sometimes, boy, as I stand close by and listen to our master’s careless, light-hearted speech. Again and again he has been within an ace of betraying who he is, and at any moment some of the sharper-witted of the courtiers by whom we are surrounded may grasp the truth, and then, Denis, as Francis has said, we are in the lion’s den and the risk is great.”“Yes, sir; I see all that,” said Denis, in a low earnest whisper. “Then you have no idea where the jewel of France is kept?”“Not the slightest, boy, and I want you to use your eyes and ears to help me all you can. There is that young English esquire. You are great friends; perhaps he might know. I don’t like asking you to play the spy and betray your friend, but the English are our natural enemies. We are here upon a sacred mission, and we must quiet our consciences with the recollection that what we seek was torn by conquest from the Valois diadem.”“Yes, I know, sir,” whispered Denis eagerly, influenced as he was by the masterful spirit and words of his tutor.“Then try, boy; try your best to help me, while we have time. You promise me this?”“Of course, sir. But what,” cried Denis, with his eyes flashing, “if I already know?”“Boy!” cried Leoni excitedly; and he caught his young companion by the shoulders, but checked himself, instantly drew back, walked slowly across the room to the door, opened it and looked out, and then came back and signed to Denis to close the window, while he softly moved here and there; and the boy noticed how, as if to examine the beauty of the silken hangings, he touched them again and again, as if to make sure that no listener was concealed behind.Leoni ended by joining his young companions in the deep embrasure of the window, taking him by the arm, and pressing him towards the diamond panes of the casement as if to draw his attention to something out beyond the terrace and the steep slope below.“Now,” he said, in a quick whisper, “speak beneath your breath. You know where?”“In the tall, square-turreted cabinet three parts of the way down the long corridor by the King’s private apartments.”“Ah, I have not been there, and dared not raise suspicion by asking permission to go. Are you sure?”“Carrbroke has as good as told me it was there. He spoke of a charm with fateful powers of its own, and that the King held gems as sacred relics.”“Ah!” ejaculated Leoni softly. “Boy, you make me begin to live.”“Shall I tell you something more, sir?”“There can be nothing more that I wish to hear,” whispered Leoni. “Boy, you have filled an empty void. But speak; tell me what more you have to say.”“The King has a secret passage whose door is in the arras two chambers down the long corridor farther on.”“Young Carrbroke told you so?”“Yes.”“Bah! But it would be a secret way known only to himself, of no avail to us. It could not be found. Once the relic is in our hands, a silken rope and some window must be our way.”“But I know the secret of the passage, sir, how to open the door, and where the passage leads.”“Where, boy, where?” cried Leoni excitedly.“Down to the grounds, and then by a long winding alley through the private gardens to the riverside.”“Hist!” whispered Leoni. “No more, boy, for your words have seemed to burn. Ah, it is strange! The workings too of fate. What I have striven for in vain has come to you without seeking, without thought. It is fate, boy, fate. The spirit of our great nation is working on our behalf, and has made you the chosen instrument of our success. We must, we shall succeed, and through you. Now silence; not another word but these. I say silence, Denis. It is for our master’s sake and forla France.”

It was the very next day that Denis, after his attendance upon Francis, who had gone to join Henry, was alone in the King’s apartments, standing in the deep recess of a casement window, which he had flung open, and was leaning out gazing at the landscape stretching far and wide before him, and giving him a silvery glimpse here and there of the bright glittering river.

He was so lost in admiration of the scene that he did not hear the door open, and was only made conscious of some one being in the room behind him by hearing a low muttering voice say:

“A blind search! A blind search! What shall I do next to bring it to an end?”

Denis made a sharp movement, catching the sleeve of his doublet against the copper fastening which held open the casement; and as he turned a nervous hand suddenly seized him by the shoulder in a painful grasp, for it was as if fingers of steel were pressing into his flesh.

“You, Master Leoni!” he cried, as the clutch was relaxed as quickly as it came. “Yes, my boy,” said the doctor; and the lad shivered slightly as the fierce fire in one of Leoni’s eyes died into a pleasant smile, though the cold fixed stare in the other remained the same as of old.

“I thought I was alone.”

“Well, boy; do you like your life here in the castle?”

“Oh yes,” cried Denis; “but when are we to have, Carrbroke and I, another fencing lesson?”

“At any time when the King does not require my services,” said Leoni, smiling. “Why, you will soon be a better swordsman than I.”

“Oh, sir!” cried Denis deprecatingly.

“Well, say as good, my dear boy, when you know all that I can teach you.”

“And you will teach me all, sir?”

“Of course, of course,” said the doctor, laying his hand caressingly on the boy’s shoulder. “You are a pupil of whom I feel proud. But tell me,” he continued, as he passed his hand softly along the muscles of the lad’s arm, “what about the stiffness and pain?”

“All gone, sir. That salve you applied seemed to make it pass entirely away.”

“That is good,” said the doctor, nodding his head. “But tell me, boy, was I speaking aloud when I came into the room?”

“Not aloud, sir, but just so that I could hear what you said.”

“Ah, a bad habit! And what did I say?”

“It was something about a blind search.”

“Ah, yes; and you guessed at once what I meant?”

“Why, yes, sir. I immediately thought that you meant the—”

With a quick movement, accompanied by a smile, Leoni’s long, thin, brown fingers were laid upon Denis’s lips.

“Hist, boy! We are in King Henry’s palace, where walls may have ears. Speak it not. We understand one another, and know what in our master’s service we have come to seek. Denis, you are a boy in years, but I find you in many things a man at heart, and there should be no half confidences between us two. I like you, my boy, and always have, stern and cold and severe as I may have seemed. My face may have been hard, but there are moments when my heart is soft. Denis, my son, we are working for the King and for France, and so far I am at fault. I thought my task would be so easy that, once here, that which we seek would be within my grasp; and so far it seems beyond me, while the golden hours glide swiftly away, and before many days have passed our visit with all its risks must have an end. I shiver sometimes, boy, as I stand close by and listen to our master’s careless, light-hearted speech. Again and again he has been within an ace of betraying who he is, and at any moment some of the sharper-witted of the courtiers by whom we are surrounded may grasp the truth, and then, Denis, as Francis has said, we are in the lion’s den and the risk is great.”

“Yes, sir; I see all that,” said Denis, in a low earnest whisper. “Then you have no idea where the jewel of France is kept?”

“Not the slightest, boy, and I want you to use your eyes and ears to help me all you can. There is that young English esquire. You are great friends; perhaps he might know. I don’t like asking you to play the spy and betray your friend, but the English are our natural enemies. We are here upon a sacred mission, and we must quiet our consciences with the recollection that what we seek was torn by conquest from the Valois diadem.”

“Yes, I know, sir,” whispered Denis eagerly, influenced as he was by the masterful spirit and words of his tutor.

“Then try, boy; try your best to help me, while we have time. You promise me this?”

“Of course, sir. But what,” cried Denis, with his eyes flashing, “if I already know?”

“Boy!” cried Leoni excitedly; and he caught his young companion by the shoulders, but checked himself, instantly drew back, walked slowly across the room to the door, opened it and looked out, and then came back and signed to Denis to close the window, while he softly moved here and there; and the boy noticed how, as if to examine the beauty of the silken hangings, he touched them again and again, as if to make sure that no listener was concealed behind.

Leoni ended by joining his young companions in the deep embrasure of the window, taking him by the arm, and pressing him towards the diamond panes of the casement as if to draw his attention to something out beyond the terrace and the steep slope below.

“Now,” he said, in a quick whisper, “speak beneath your breath. You know where?”

“In the tall, square-turreted cabinet three parts of the way down the long corridor by the King’s private apartments.”

“Ah, I have not been there, and dared not raise suspicion by asking permission to go. Are you sure?”

“Carrbroke has as good as told me it was there. He spoke of a charm with fateful powers of its own, and that the King held gems as sacred relics.”

“Ah!” ejaculated Leoni softly. “Boy, you make me begin to live.”

“Shall I tell you something more, sir?”

“There can be nothing more that I wish to hear,” whispered Leoni. “Boy, you have filled an empty void. But speak; tell me what more you have to say.”

“The King has a secret passage whose door is in the arras two chambers down the long corridor farther on.”

“Young Carrbroke told you so?”

“Yes.”

“Bah! But it would be a secret way known only to himself, of no avail to us. It could not be found. Once the relic is in our hands, a silken rope and some window must be our way.”

“But I know the secret of the passage, sir, how to open the door, and where the passage leads.”

“Where, boy, where?” cried Leoni excitedly.

“Down to the grounds, and then by a long winding alley through the private gardens to the riverside.”

“Hist!” whispered Leoni. “No more, boy, for your words have seemed to burn. Ah, it is strange! The workings too of fate. What I have striven for in vain has come to you without seeking, without thought. It is fate, boy, fate. The spirit of our great nation is working on our behalf, and has made you the chosen instrument of our success. We must, we shall succeed, and through you. Now silence; not another word but these. I say silence, Denis. It is for our master’s sake and forla France.”

Chapter Twenty Seven.The Chamberlain has suspicions.Several days passed at the Court in a succession of gaieties including hunting, an excursion on the river, and at night banquet and dance. Henry was charmed with the pleasant sprightliness of his guest, whose lively French manner attracted him more and more. He distinguished himself in the field and in the chivalrous sports in the Castle Yard.There were moments when the King looked grim and slightly disposed to be jealous of the applause given to the Comte, and more than once Lord Hurst saw his master frown heavily upon seeing how great a favourite Francis had made himself with the courtiers, who were delighted with the change the gay Frenchman made in the monotony of their daily life. But Leoni felt that the luxurious seats he occupied at Windsor were stuffed with thorns, and that they were placed close to the edge of a mine that might at any moment explode.Still the time wore on and the danger seemed as far off as ever, for in obedience to Leoni’s prompting Francis, though often sailing very near the wind, dexterously gave a turn to the rudder just at the right time, and the doctor breathed freely once again, while he waited for the moment when he could put into action one or other of the plans he had thought out, to get possession of the fateful jewel whose resting-place he felt he knew, lying as it did, though still distant, almost within his grasp. For short of gaining entrance to the private corridor where it lay, and boldly breaking open the cabinet some night, to carry off the prize, he could not yet see his way.“That must be the last resource,” he said to Denis. “The Comte and I must exercise subtlety. The knowledge came from you, boy—given to you by fate; and we must wait longer, even if it be for days. Who knows but, as she has favoured us so far, fate may place in our hands the fruit that is ripe to pluck?”“I wish they’d pluck it or leave it alone,” said Denis to himself. “I hate the whole business. It is very pleasant being here, and Carrbroke makes himself quite like a brother, though I can’t help laughing at him sometimes when he speaks such bad French; but that doesn’t matter. He laughs at my bad English just the same, and it’s all capital sport when we are together, if I didn’t feel so treacherous. There are times when I should like to tell him all, and why we are here; but I can’t, for that would be behaving treacherously to my King.”The lad ended his musings rather gloomily, as he felt sure that before long they would be found out and the daring business be all come to an end.Similar thoughts kept Leoni awake the greater part of each night in his luxurious chamber, spoiling his rest, and making him attend his master the next morning terribly troubled in mind, but only to brighten up on finding how well in favour the Comte seemed with the King, who was always seeking his visitor out for some new pursuit in courtly pleasure or excursion.But the cloud was gathering all the same, and the discovery very near at hand.One morning Lord Hurst was in attendance upon Henry, making his customary daily reports and taking his orders for various preparations to carry out something fresh in the way of entertainment, when the King waved his hand impatiently.“There, there,” he cried, “no more of this!” Then, good-humouredly, “Well, Hurst, what do you think of our ambassador?”“Think of him, Sire?” replied the courtier.“Yes, yes,” cried the King testily. “Do I not speak plainly? Why do you look at me like that? Do you not think he is a most worthy representative of his master?”“Undoubtedly, Sire, but—”“Hurst,” cried the King furiously, “have I not made you my trusted adviser?”“Yes, Sire, and I am your faithful servant, always ready to advise.”“Then why do you not speak out? I know you of old. You are keeping something back. What does this mean? Have you some suspicion about this man? Hah! I have it! You believe him to be a spy sent by Francis to learn all he can about my Court—about my realm! Man, man, you do not believe that this French King is plotting something to rob me farther of the possessions gained by my ancestors in the past?”“No, Sire, no; but I am troubled in my mind,” said Hurst, speaking in a low anxious tone.“Out with it, then! What is your suspicion? What is it you know?”“I know nothing, Sire,” replied Hurst; “but I am troubled, in my grave anxiety for my master’s weal, as to the real motives of this Comte’s visit.”“Hah!”“And I doubt, Sire, as to his being the Comte de la Seine.”“What!” cried the King. “Some impostor! Hurst! This is an insult to my guest, as noble and accomplished a gentleman as ever entered our Court—one whom I already look upon as my friend. Speak, man! What is it you think—that he is some cheat?”“Cheat, Sire? No; but I believe him to be far higher in station than he says.”“Hah! Higher? How could he be higher?”“Some prince, Sire, of royal blood.”“Bah!” cried the King contemptuously. “Fool! Dreamer! And at a time like this, when the horses are waiting and my guest doubtless ready, waiting till I join him! Always like this, Hurst, thinking out some wild diplomatic folly to cast like a stumbling-block in my way when I am upon pleasure bent. It is but little rest I get from cares of state, and you grudge me even that. Bah! I will hear no more.—Stop!” cried the King, after turning away. “See that there is a better banquet to-night, something more done to honour my French brother’s emissary; more music and dancing, too. There, that is enough.” And, hot and fuming, the King strode from the chamber, leaving his chamberlain standing alone, thoughtful and heavy.Shortly afterwards there came through the open window the trampling of horses, eager voices, dominating all the loud, bluff, hearty voice of the King, followed by the sharper, rather metallic tones of the Comte, and then the merry laughter and ejaculations of the ladies who had joined the cavalcade. Then silence once again.“Perhaps I am wrong,” said the chamberlain thoughtfully; “and too much zeal may prove my ruin, for mine is a dangerous post and I fear that I have gone too far. I don’t know, though. The suspicion seems to grow. We shall see, though; we shall see.”

Several days passed at the Court in a succession of gaieties including hunting, an excursion on the river, and at night banquet and dance. Henry was charmed with the pleasant sprightliness of his guest, whose lively French manner attracted him more and more. He distinguished himself in the field and in the chivalrous sports in the Castle Yard.

There were moments when the King looked grim and slightly disposed to be jealous of the applause given to the Comte, and more than once Lord Hurst saw his master frown heavily upon seeing how great a favourite Francis had made himself with the courtiers, who were delighted with the change the gay Frenchman made in the monotony of their daily life. But Leoni felt that the luxurious seats he occupied at Windsor were stuffed with thorns, and that they were placed close to the edge of a mine that might at any moment explode.

Still the time wore on and the danger seemed as far off as ever, for in obedience to Leoni’s prompting Francis, though often sailing very near the wind, dexterously gave a turn to the rudder just at the right time, and the doctor breathed freely once again, while he waited for the moment when he could put into action one or other of the plans he had thought out, to get possession of the fateful jewel whose resting-place he felt he knew, lying as it did, though still distant, almost within his grasp. For short of gaining entrance to the private corridor where it lay, and boldly breaking open the cabinet some night, to carry off the prize, he could not yet see his way.

“That must be the last resource,” he said to Denis. “The Comte and I must exercise subtlety. The knowledge came from you, boy—given to you by fate; and we must wait longer, even if it be for days. Who knows but, as she has favoured us so far, fate may place in our hands the fruit that is ripe to pluck?”

“I wish they’d pluck it or leave it alone,” said Denis to himself. “I hate the whole business. It is very pleasant being here, and Carrbroke makes himself quite like a brother, though I can’t help laughing at him sometimes when he speaks such bad French; but that doesn’t matter. He laughs at my bad English just the same, and it’s all capital sport when we are together, if I didn’t feel so treacherous. There are times when I should like to tell him all, and why we are here; but I can’t, for that would be behaving treacherously to my King.”

The lad ended his musings rather gloomily, as he felt sure that before long they would be found out and the daring business be all come to an end.

Similar thoughts kept Leoni awake the greater part of each night in his luxurious chamber, spoiling his rest, and making him attend his master the next morning terribly troubled in mind, but only to brighten up on finding how well in favour the Comte seemed with the King, who was always seeking his visitor out for some new pursuit in courtly pleasure or excursion.

But the cloud was gathering all the same, and the discovery very near at hand.

One morning Lord Hurst was in attendance upon Henry, making his customary daily reports and taking his orders for various preparations to carry out something fresh in the way of entertainment, when the King waved his hand impatiently.

“There, there,” he cried, “no more of this!” Then, good-humouredly, “Well, Hurst, what do you think of our ambassador?”

“Think of him, Sire?” replied the courtier.

“Yes, yes,” cried the King testily. “Do I not speak plainly? Why do you look at me like that? Do you not think he is a most worthy representative of his master?”

“Undoubtedly, Sire, but—”

“Hurst,” cried the King furiously, “have I not made you my trusted adviser?”

“Yes, Sire, and I am your faithful servant, always ready to advise.”

“Then why do you not speak out? I know you of old. You are keeping something back. What does this mean? Have you some suspicion about this man? Hah! I have it! You believe him to be a spy sent by Francis to learn all he can about my Court—about my realm! Man, man, you do not believe that this French King is plotting something to rob me farther of the possessions gained by my ancestors in the past?”

“No, Sire, no; but I am troubled in my mind,” said Hurst, speaking in a low anxious tone.

“Out with it, then! What is your suspicion? What is it you know?”

“I know nothing, Sire,” replied Hurst; “but I am troubled, in my grave anxiety for my master’s weal, as to the real motives of this Comte’s visit.”

“Hah!”

“And I doubt, Sire, as to his being the Comte de la Seine.”

“What!” cried the King. “Some impostor! Hurst! This is an insult to my guest, as noble and accomplished a gentleman as ever entered our Court—one whom I already look upon as my friend. Speak, man! What is it you think—that he is some cheat?”

“Cheat, Sire? No; but I believe him to be far higher in station than he says.”

“Hah! Higher? How could he be higher?”

“Some prince, Sire, of royal blood.”

“Bah!” cried the King contemptuously. “Fool! Dreamer! And at a time like this, when the horses are waiting and my guest doubtless ready, waiting till I join him! Always like this, Hurst, thinking out some wild diplomatic folly to cast like a stumbling-block in my way when I am upon pleasure bent. It is but little rest I get from cares of state, and you grudge me even that. Bah! I will hear no more.—Stop!” cried the King, after turning away. “See that there is a better banquet to-night, something more done to honour my French brother’s emissary; more music and dancing, too. There, that is enough.” And, hot and fuming, the King strode from the chamber, leaving his chamberlain standing alone, thoughtful and heavy.

Shortly afterwards there came through the open window the trampling of horses, eager voices, dominating all the loud, bluff, hearty voice of the King, followed by the sharper, rather metallic tones of the Comte, and then the merry laughter and ejaculations of the ladies who had joined the cavalcade. Then silence once again.

“Perhaps I am wrong,” said the chamberlain thoughtfully; “and too much zeal may prove my ruin, for mine is a dangerous post and I fear that I have gone too far. I don’t know, though. The suspicion seems to grow. We shall see, though; we shall see.”

Chapter Twenty Eight.And opens the King’s eyes.The chamberlain had worthily carried out his master’s orders, and the scene in connection with the supper that night was brighter than ever; but the King did not seem satisfied. His heavy face looked gloomy, and Francis banteringly asked him if he was too much wearied by the hunt that day, receiving a grave nod in reply.Later on Francis, who was excited and annoyed by the dullness of his host, made an excuse to leave him and join the dance, but only to find his progress stayed by Leoni, who led him aside to make some communication—one which made his master frown and whisper back angrily. But Leoni spoke again, and Denis, who was near, saw the King make a deprecating gesture with his hands, and then hurry off to enter thesalonwhere the dancing was going on.Denis stood watching Leoni, who stood looking thoughtfully after his master.“I thought so,” said the boy to himself, for as he watched Leoni he saw the doctor turn slowly and with his peculiar fixed look sweep the well-filled room till his eye rested upon the young esquire.The next moment he had raised his finger to his lips, gazing at him fixedly for some moments, before turning and moving towards the door, when Denis heaved a deep sigh and looked round in vain in search of Saint Simon; but he was nowhere near, and the boy slowly followed Leoni, whom he found waiting for him just outside the door.Meanwhile Hurst, upon seeing the Comte’s departure, drew near to where Henry sat moody and alone, the various gentlemen in attendance, knowing their master’s ways, having drawn back a little, to enter into a forced conversation, waiting for the King’s next move.They had not long to wait, for he suddenly looked round till his eyes rested upon the chamberlain, when he rose, to lay his hand upon his counsellor’s shoulder and walk out with him towards the now deserted corridor, into which the strains of music from the ballroom floated again and again.“There, Hurst,” he cried, as soon as they were alone, and they paced together slowly towards the end, “what am I to say to you?”“Sire?”“If I were not in a good humour I should be disposed to punish you by the loss of my favour for spoiling what ought to have been a joyous day.”“Sire, I am deeply grieved. You must credit me with anxiety in my duty towards your Majesty.”“Yes, yes, I do,” cried the King impatiently. “But your suspicions have been absurd, and have made me behave almost rudely to my brother’s ambassador, as noble a gentleman as I ever met. Zounds, man! Is a king’s life always to be made bitter by his people’s dreams of plots? Your suspicions are all folly. He a prince of France! Absurd!”The chamberlain walked on in silence, and stopped short where the corridor opened out into a well-lit chamber whose walls were hung with portraits.“Well,” said the King, “what now?”“Would your Majesty step here into this alcove?” said the chamberlain, after a quick glance around to see that they were alone.“What now?” cried the King angrily.The chamberlain made no reply, but still stepped forward to the far side of the chamber, where he took a candle from one of the sconces on the wall to hold it up above his head in front of a large full-length canvas, the work of some great master, whose brush had so vividly delineated the features of his subject that the portrait seemed to gaze fixedly down at the King, while a faint smile just flickered upon its lips.“Does your Majesty know those features?” said the chamberlain. “Who is that?”“What!” cried the King, in startled tones. “Philippe de Valois.”“Yes, Sire; and my suspicion grows stronger every hour.”“Hah!” cried the King. “But no: impossible! And yet the same eyes; that same careless, half mocking smile. Hurst, there is something in this. The features are similar.”“Yes, Sire. It is a strong family resemblance.”“But who could it be, and why should he come here? To play the spy; for it could mean nothing else. What sinister plots and plans can there be behind all this? But you were thinking. You know something more?”“I know no more than your Majesty. I only suspect.”“Suspect! Suspicion! I hate the very sounds of the words, and all the black clouds that hang around them. A family resemblance? Then who could this man be?”The chamberlain was silent.“Man,” whispered the King hoarsely, “you are my servant. Don’t thwart me now. If you value your place here—more, your life—speak out!”The chamberlain returned the candle to the sconce, and then said slowly:“Your servant’s life is at your service, Sire. I am not sure, but I tell you honestly that which I believe. This gentleman is wearing a disguise, and comes here under an assumed name, and from my soul I believe he is—”“Who?” whispered the King, grasping him fiercely by the arm.“Francis, King of France.”“Hah!” ejaculated the King hoarsely, and with his face taking a fierce expression mingled with anger, surprise, and triumph. “And what has brought him here? If you are right. Hurst—mind, I say, if you are right— But you had never seen this man before, and it may be only a resemblance.”“It may, your Majesty, but—”“If it is,” whispered the King, with his face looking purple in the dim light, “the fox has come unbidden into the lion’s den, and if the lion should raise his paw, where would be the fox?”He looked fiercely and meaningly in his follower’s eyes.“France,” continued the King, in a hoarse whisper. “France, how much of those fair domains won by my predecessors with the sword have been wrested from the English crown bit by bit—the noble domains over which these Valois now rule as usurpers. Hurst, what if the sceptre of England should be held again swaying our ancient lands of France. Supposing, I say, there were no Valois, or he perforce had been called upon to render back all that had been stolen from our crown. I am the King, and as my father used his gallant sword to gain one kingdom, why should not I by a diplomatic move win back another?”“Your Majesty is King,” said the chamberlain slowly and meaningly.“Yes,” said the King, in a hoarse whisper; “and when I am moved to act my will is strong.”There was silence for a few moments, and then Henry continued angrily:“A ruse—a trick, put upon me for some strange scheming of his own, a gin, a trap to capture me, but for the setter to be caught himself. Francis, King of France!” he continued hoarsely; and then a peculiar smile, mocking, bitter, and almost savage, came upon his, lips as he gazed piercingly at his companion.“No, Hurst,” he said meaningly, “I know no King of France. He would not dare to beard me in my own home like this. This man, this mock ambassador, this Comte de la Seine, is the only one with whom we have to do—an impostor who shall meet with the trickster’s fate.”“But your Majesty—” said the chamberlain eagerly.“My Majesty, Hurst, is going to work his own will, and as he will.”“But, Sire, you will be just?”“Yes, Hurst, as I always am. I grant that you may still be wrong, and we will clear this up.”“Your Majesty is going to—”“Straight to the ballroom,” replied the King, “to see this Comte de la Seine and have the truth.”“Now, Sire?”“Yes, now at once.”The King turned abruptly, and, closely followed by the chamberlain, made for the ballroom, where the dancing was in full progress; but the Comte was not leading one of the brightest ladies of the Court through the mazes of gavotte or minuet, and as the King turned angrily to his chamberlain it was to find him in close converse with one of the gentlemen in attendance.“The Comte made the excuse of a bad headache, Sire, some few minutes back, and retired to his apartments with his suite,” whispered Hurst.“Then I am afraid we shall make it worse,” said the King bitterly. “This way, Hurst; I must have the truth of this before I sleep.” And he strode from the room, closely followed by his companion, to whom in his excitement as he followed the angry lion the movements of the dancers seemed mocking, and the music sounded strange.

The chamberlain had worthily carried out his master’s orders, and the scene in connection with the supper that night was brighter than ever; but the King did not seem satisfied. His heavy face looked gloomy, and Francis banteringly asked him if he was too much wearied by the hunt that day, receiving a grave nod in reply.

Later on Francis, who was excited and annoyed by the dullness of his host, made an excuse to leave him and join the dance, but only to find his progress stayed by Leoni, who led him aside to make some communication—one which made his master frown and whisper back angrily. But Leoni spoke again, and Denis, who was near, saw the King make a deprecating gesture with his hands, and then hurry off to enter thesalonwhere the dancing was going on.

Denis stood watching Leoni, who stood looking thoughtfully after his master.

“I thought so,” said the boy to himself, for as he watched Leoni he saw the doctor turn slowly and with his peculiar fixed look sweep the well-filled room till his eye rested upon the young esquire.

The next moment he had raised his finger to his lips, gazing at him fixedly for some moments, before turning and moving towards the door, when Denis heaved a deep sigh and looked round in vain in search of Saint Simon; but he was nowhere near, and the boy slowly followed Leoni, whom he found waiting for him just outside the door.

Meanwhile Hurst, upon seeing the Comte’s departure, drew near to where Henry sat moody and alone, the various gentlemen in attendance, knowing their master’s ways, having drawn back a little, to enter into a forced conversation, waiting for the King’s next move.

They had not long to wait, for he suddenly looked round till his eyes rested upon the chamberlain, when he rose, to lay his hand upon his counsellor’s shoulder and walk out with him towards the now deserted corridor, into which the strains of music from the ballroom floated again and again.

“There, Hurst,” he cried, as soon as they were alone, and they paced together slowly towards the end, “what am I to say to you?”

“Sire?”

“If I were not in a good humour I should be disposed to punish you by the loss of my favour for spoiling what ought to have been a joyous day.”

“Sire, I am deeply grieved. You must credit me with anxiety in my duty towards your Majesty.”

“Yes, yes, I do,” cried the King impatiently. “But your suspicions have been absurd, and have made me behave almost rudely to my brother’s ambassador, as noble a gentleman as I ever met. Zounds, man! Is a king’s life always to be made bitter by his people’s dreams of plots? Your suspicions are all folly. He a prince of France! Absurd!”

The chamberlain walked on in silence, and stopped short where the corridor opened out into a well-lit chamber whose walls were hung with portraits.

“Well,” said the King, “what now?”

“Would your Majesty step here into this alcove?” said the chamberlain, after a quick glance around to see that they were alone.

“What now?” cried the King angrily.

The chamberlain made no reply, but still stepped forward to the far side of the chamber, where he took a candle from one of the sconces on the wall to hold it up above his head in front of a large full-length canvas, the work of some great master, whose brush had so vividly delineated the features of his subject that the portrait seemed to gaze fixedly down at the King, while a faint smile just flickered upon its lips.

“Does your Majesty know those features?” said the chamberlain. “Who is that?”

“What!” cried the King, in startled tones. “Philippe de Valois.”

“Yes, Sire; and my suspicion grows stronger every hour.”

“Hah!” cried the King. “But no: impossible! And yet the same eyes; that same careless, half mocking smile. Hurst, there is something in this. The features are similar.”

“Yes, Sire. It is a strong family resemblance.”

“But who could it be, and why should he come here? To play the spy; for it could mean nothing else. What sinister plots and plans can there be behind all this? But you were thinking. You know something more?”

“I know no more than your Majesty. I only suspect.”

“Suspect! Suspicion! I hate the very sounds of the words, and all the black clouds that hang around them. A family resemblance? Then who could this man be?”

The chamberlain was silent.

“Man,” whispered the King hoarsely, “you are my servant. Don’t thwart me now. If you value your place here—more, your life—speak out!”

The chamberlain returned the candle to the sconce, and then said slowly:

“Your servant’s life is at your service, Sire. I am not sure, but I tell you honestly that which I believe. This gentleman is wearing a disguise, and comes here under an assumed name, and from my soul I believe he is—”

“Who?” whispered the King, grasping him fiercely by the arm.

“Francis, King of France.”

“Hah!” ejaculated the King hoarsely, and with his face taking a fierce expression mingled with anger, surprise, and triumph. “And what has brought him here? If you are right. Hurst—mind, I say, if you are right— But you had never seen this man before, and it may be only a resemblance.”

“It may, your Majesty, but—”

“If it is,” whispered the King, with his face looking purple in the dim light, “the fox has come unbidden into the lion’s den, and if the lion should raise his paw, where would be the fox?”

He looked fiercely and meaningly in his follower’s eyes.

“France,” continued the King, in a hoarse whisper. “France, how much of those fair domains won by my predecessors with the sword have been wrested from the English crown bit by bit—the noble domains over which these Valois now rule as usurpers. Hurst, what if the sceptre of England should be held again swaying our ancient lands of France. Supposing, I say, there were no Valois, or he perforce had been called upon to render back all that had been stolen from our crown. I am the King, and as my father used his gallant sword to gain one kingdom, why should not I by a diplomatic move win back another?”

“Your Majesty is King,” said the chamberlain slowly and meaningly.

“Yes,” said the King, in a hoarse whisper; “and when I am moved to act my will is strong.”

There was silence for a few moments, and then Henry continued angrily:

“A ruse—a trick, put upon me for some strange scheming of his own, a gin, a trap to capture me, but for the setter to be caught himself. Francis, King of France!” he continued hoarsely; and then a peculiar smile, mocking, bitter, and almost savage, came upon his, lips as he gazed piercingly at his companion.

“No, Hurst,” he said meaningly, “I know no King of France. He would not dare to beard me in my own home like this. This man, this mock ambassador, this Comte de la Seine, is the only one with whom we have to do—an impostor who shall meet with the trickster’s fate.”

“But your Majesty—” said the chamberlain eagerly.

“My Majesty, Hurst, is going to work his own will, and as he will.”

“But, Sire, you will be just?”

“Yes, Hurst, as I always am. I grant that you may still be wrong, and we will clear this up.”

“Your Majesty is going to—”

“Straight to the ballroom,” replied the King, “to see this Comte de la Seine and have the truth.”

“Now, Sire?”

“Yes, now at once.”

The King turned abruptly, and, closely followed by the chamberlain, made for the ballroom, where the dancing was in full progress; but the Comte was not leading one of the brightest ladies of the Court through the mazes of gavotte or minuet, and as the King turned angrily to his chamberlain it was to find him in close converse with one of the gentlemen in attendance.

“The Comte made the excuse of a bad headache, Sire, some few minutes back, and retired to his apartments with his suite,” whispered Hurst.

“Then I am afraid we shall make it worse,” said the King bitterly. “This way, Hurst; I must have the truth of this before I sleep.” And he strode from the room, closely followed by his companion, to whom in his excitement as he followed the angry lion the movements of the dancers seemed mocking, and the music sounded strange.

Chapter Twenty Nine.Dark work.More than one of the Court ladies thought the gallant Comte strange in his manner, as they waited, fully expecting that he would come up and offer his hand to lead them through the next dance; but it soon became evident that nothing was farther from his intentions, and after looking on for a short time he slowly left the great apartment, and began to make his way towards his own rooms. “I don’t like it; I don’t like it,” he muttered. “It is vile and degrading. I feel as if only to think of it were lowering myself to the level of some cutpurse. I would I had never come. No,” he added sharply; “the time has passed too gaily for me to say that; and the good, bluff, hot-tempered, cheery Henri! I like the brave Englishman, and my faith, I have made him like me, traitor as I am.—No, it is not I. It is the spirit of that cunning, subtle Leoni, with his horrible fixed eye. I cannot tell why, but he masters me—King as I am. He turns me round his finger and forces me to obey even against my better feelings; for I think I have some. Can it be that he is more than man, that he possesses some strange power over one’s brain, as he does over the body when one is ill? Well, I’ll be master now. I will not do this thing. By my sword, is this cunning Italian to force his master to become a thief? No! He shall learn to-night that I’ll have none of it. Conceal who I am! Play the part of a masquerading spy! No! to-morrow I’ll tell my brother Harry the whole truth.”He started violently as he came to this conclusion, for a dark figure suddenly glided from behind one of the statues in the long passage he was following. “You, Leoni?” he said, in a hoarse whisper. “M. le Comte! Yes, it is I. You have been long.”“Long?” said Francis haughtily. “How—” He stopped short, for Leoni placed his lips close to his ear. “France is anxious, Sire, and the time has come.”“The time!” said the King sharply. “Not for that?”“Yes, M. le Comte, for that. I have been waiting for the fateful moment to arrive for the great opportunity, and it has come.”“But,” cried Francis, “I have been thinking—my position here—my good friend the King. Leoni, all this must end; I cannot, I will not do this thing.”“Sire!” whispered Leoni.“No, no, man. It is the Comte de la Seine you speak to, and who tells you he will let you lead him no more through these devious ways. Who are you that you should dare to force me onward into such a crime?”“Your servant, sir, but at the same time he to whom it is given to lead you aright towards making your country the greatest in the world.”“Through crime?” said the King hotly.“The acts of kings, sir, are outside crime. You are the anointed, and can do no wrong.”“Of my own will, no; but this:—”“Sir, the spirit of your country calls upon you to act. The fateful jewel we came to seek is ready to pass into your possession, and the time has come—”“Leoni, I will not hear you. I swear I will not sully mine honour with such an act. This deed shall never be done by me.”“Deed—deed, sir—act! You speak as if it were a crime,” whispered Leoni.“It is a crime,” cried the King angrily. “Dare not to speak to me of this deed again. Now, enough. The King expects me back, and to-morrow I will place myself outside temptation, and leave this place. Whatever happens, my visit here is at an end.”“Your visit ends to-night, sir,” said Leoni, in a low, harsh whisper; and as he spoke he leaned forward, passed his hands quickly before the King’s face, and then caught him by the wrist.“Leoni!” said Francis quickly. “What means this?”“I have told you, sir. It is too late to attempt to shrink back now that the fateful moment has arrived. Quick, sir, and in an hour’s time we shall be on our way to the coast. Silence, sir,” he whispered sharply, as Francis essayed to speak, looking half dazed the while in his companion’s eye, as Leoni leaned towards him with his hot breath passing over the monarch’s face. “This way, sir—quick!”“Where? Where?” faltered the King. “What does this mean, Leoni?” he whispered. “Have you been tricking me with one of your accursed drugs?”“Silence, sir! I am calling you back to your duty,” whispered the doctor, as he guided Francis quickly along the passage, still holding him tightly by the wrist, “for once more I pray you to prove yourself our country’s greatest son.”Francis made no reply, no sign, but, yielding helplessly, allowed himself to be led to the door of his ante-chamber, where the door opened without being touched, and, once inside, closed behind them, Saint Simon having been waiting, while Denis, who looked pale and excited by the light of the two candles that illumined the room, rose up from where he had been kneeling, securing the straps of a valise.No one spoke a word, for Leoni raised his hand as if commanding silence, as he still held the wrist of Francis, who gazed vacantly from one to the other as if he were in a dream.“Is the Comte ill?” said Denis anxiously.“A little over-excited,” said Leoni quickly. “A cup of water, boy.” And as he spoke, without leaving his grasp of the King’s wrist, Leoni thrust the hand at liberty into his breast and drew forth a little goldenflacon, which glistened in the light.“Set down the cup,” said Leoni quickly, as Denis returned from the bedchamber with the water. “Now, boy, unscrew the top of this, and hold it in your hand.”Leoni held out the little glistening flask, retaining it tightly, while Denis twisted off the tiny, cup-like top.“Not that way, boy; turn it up so that I can fill it to the brim. Now,” he whispered, “empty it into the water, and screw on the top once more.”This was quickly done, and theflaconreplaced.“Now,” continued Leoni, “hand the cup to the Comte. The ballroom was overheated, and the wine he has drunk to-night has affected him.—Drink, sir; you will be better then.”The King started slightly, looked wildly in the eyes that seemed to master him, and with a slight shiver took the handed cup, drained it, and uttered a low, deep sigh.“Ah,” said Leoni, smiling in a peculiar way. “Now, gentlemen, the time has come for action. You, Saint Simon, be silent, and alert. There must be no bloodshed unless it is to save the Comte. You will come with us, and I shall depend upon your sword for our protection if there is peril in the way. You, Denis, boy,” he continued, turning to the young esquire, who stood looking on now with his lips apart and a strange feeling of misery and despair oppressing him, “you have your duty to perform.”“Not to—” began Denis; but he was checked by the angry gesture the doctor made.“Silence, sir! Your master’s work. Follow us outside, and remain there on guard. The Comte’s valise is ready. Never mind our own. Here, quick! Where is the cloak?”Denis darted to agarde-robeand drew out the monarch’s cloak.“That’s right. Throw it down there. You will now allow no one to pass in here, but stand on guard till we return. If we are not back here by the time the castle clock has chimed twice you will take the cloak and valise, go down the long corridor, if possible unseen, and make for the stables, where you will have the horses saddled at once.”“But—”“But!” snapped out Leoni. “They must be saddled. Quick! Slip off my pouch and gird it on. There is gold enough within, and if that will not move the people there you have your sword.”Denis uttered a sigh of relief as he hastily unclasped the doctor’s belt, for this was work he felt that he could do.The next minute he was following his companions across the ante-chamber, ready to close the door behind them and place himself on guard in a gloomy angle of the corridor, from whence as he watched them he saw their figures seem to glide along the lighted portion, the Comte yielding entirely to his leader’s every motion, till they passed quickly out of the sentry’s ken.

More than one of the Court ladies thought the gallant Comte strange in his manner, as they waited, fully expecting that he would come up and offer his hand to lead them through the next dance; but it soon became evident that nothing was farther from his intentions, and after looking on for a short time he slowly left the great apartment, and began to make his way towards his own rooms. “I don’t like it; I don’t like it,” he muttered. “It is vile and degrading. I feel as if only to think of it were lowering myself to the level of some cutpurse. I would I had never come. No,” he added sharply; “the time has passed too gaily for me to say that; and the good, bluff, hot-tempered, cheery Henri! I like the brave Englishman, and my faith, I have made him like me, traitor as I am.—No, it is not I. It is the spirit of that cunning, subtle Leoni, with his horrible fixed eye. I cannot tell why, but he masters me—King as I am. He turns me round his finger and forces me to obey even against my better feelings; for I think I have some. Can it be that he is more than man, that he possesses some strange power over one’s brain, as he does over the body when one is ill? Well, I’ll be master now. I will not do this thing. By my sword, is this cunning Italian to force his master to become a thief? No! He shall learn to-night that I’ll have none of it. Conceal who I am! Play the part of a masquerading spy! No! to-morrow I’ll tell my brother Harry the whole truth.”

He started violently as he came to this conclusion, for a dark figure suddenly glided from behind one of the statues in the long passage he was following. “You, Leoni?” he said, in a hoarse whisper. “M. le Comte! Yes, it is I. You have been long.”

“Long?” said Francis haughtily. “How—” He stopped short, for Leoni placed his lips close to his ear. “France is anxious, Sire, and the time has come.”

“The time!” said the King sharply. “Not for that?”

“Yes, M. le Comte, for that. I have been waiting for the fateful moment to arrive for the great opportunity, and it has come.”

“But,” cried Francis, “I have been thinking—my position here—my good friend the King. Leoni, all this must end; I cannot, I will not do this thing.”

“Sire!” whispered Leoni.

“No, no, man. It is the Comte de la Seine you speak to, and who tells you he will let you lead him no more through these devious ways. Who are you that you should dare to force me onward into such a crime?”

“Your servant, sir, but at the same time he to whom it is given to lead you aright towards making your country the greatest in the world.”

“Through crime?” said the King hotly.

“The acts of kings, sir, are outside crime. You are the anointed, and can do no wrong.”

“Of my own will, no; but this:—”

“Sir, the spirit of your country calls upon you to act. The fateful jewel we came to seek is ready to pass into your possession, and the time has come—”

“Leoni, I will not hear you. I swear I will not sully mine honour with such an act. This deed shall never be done by me.”

“Deed—deed, sir—act! You speak as if it were a crime,” whispered Leoni.

“It is a crime,” cried the King angrily. “Dare not to speak to me of this deed again. Now, enough. The King expects me back, and to-morrow I will place myself outside temptation, and leave this place. Whatever happens, my visit here is at an end.”

“Your visit ends to-night, sir,” said Leoni, in a low, harsh whisper; and as he spoke he leaned forward, passed his hands quickly before the King’s face, and then caught him by the wrist.

“Leoni!” said Francis quickly. “What means this?”

“I have told you, sir. It is too late to attempt to shrink back now that the fateful moment has arrived. Quick, sir, and in an hour’s time we shall be on our way to the coast. Silence, sir,” he whispered sharply, as Francis essayed to speak, looking half dazed the while in his companion’s eye, as Leoni leaned towards him with his hot breath passing over the monarch’s face. “This way, sir—quick!”

“Where? Where?” faltered the King. “What does this mean, Leoni?” he whispered. “Have you been tricking me with one of your accursed drugs?”

“Silence, sir! I am calling you back to your duty,” whispered the doctor, as he guided Francis quickly along the passage, still holding him tightly by the wrist, “for once more I pray you to prove yourself our country’s greatest son.”

Francis made no reply, no sign, but, yielding helplessly, allowed himself to be led to the door of his ante-chamber, where the door opened without being touched, and, once inside, closed behind them, Saint Simon having been waiting, while Denis, who looked pale and excited by the light of the two candles that illumined the room, rose up from where he had been kneeling, securing the straps of a valise.

No one spoke a word, for Leoni raised his hand as if commanding silence, as he still held the wrist of Francis, who gazed vacantly from one to the other as if he were in a dream.

“Is the Comte ill?” said Denis anxiously.

“A little over-excited,” said Leoni quickly. “A cup of water, boy.” And as he spoke, without leaving his grasp of the King’s wrist, Leoni thrust the hand at liberty into his breast and drew forth a little goldenflacon, which glistened in the light.

“Set down the cup,” said Leoni quickly, as Denis returned from the bedchamber with the water. “Now, boy, unscrew the top of this, and hold it in your hand.”

Leoni held out the little glistening flask, retaining it tightly, while Denis twisted off the tiny, cup-like top.

“Not that way, boy; turn it up so that I can fill it to the brim. Now,” he whispered, “empty it into the water, and screw on the top once more.”

This was quickly done, and theflaconreplaced.

“Now,” continued Leoni, “hand the cup to the Comte. The ballroom was overheated, and the wine he has drunk to-night has affected him.—Drink, sir; you will be better then.”

The King started slightly, looked wildly in the eyes that seemed to master him, and with a slight shiver took the handed cup, drained it, and uttered a low, deep sigh.

“Ah,” said Leoni, smiling in a peculiar way. “Now, gentlemen, the time has come for action. You, Saint Simon, be silent, and alert. There must be no bloodshed unless it is to save the Comte. You will come with us, and I shall depend upon your sword for our protection if there is peril in the way. You, Denis, boy,” he continued, turning to the young esquire, who stood looking on now with his lips apart and a strange feeling of misery and despair oppressing him, “you have your duty to perform.”

“Not to—” began Denis; but he was checked by the angry gesture the doctor made.

“Silence, sir! Your master’s work. Follow us outside, and remain there on guard. The Comte’s valise is ready. Never mind our own. Here, quick! Where is the cloak?”

Denis darted to agarde-robeand drew out the monarch’s cloak.

“That’s right. Throw it down there. You will now allow no one to pass in here, but stand on guard till we return. If we are not back here by the time the castle clock has chimed twice you will take the cloak and valise, go down the long corridor, if possible unseen, and make for the stables, where you will have the horses saddled at once.”

“But—”

“But!” snapped out Leoni. “They must be saddled. Quick! Slip off my pouch and gird it on. There is gold enough within, and if that will not move the people there you have your sword.”

Denis uttered a sigh of relief as he hastily unclasped the doctor’s belt, for this was work he felt that he could do.

The next minute he was following his companions across the ante-chamber, ready to close the door behind them and place himself on guard in a gloomy angle of the corridor, from whence as he watched them he saw their figures seem to glide along the lighted portion, the Comte yielding entirely to his leader’s every motion, till they passed quickly out of the sentry’s ken.

Chapter Thirty.Bearding a lion.The King walked swiftly on in the direction of that portion of the castle where he had lodged his guest, the polished oak boards of the floor resounding beneath his heavy tread, while the chamberlain heard him keep muttering to himself as he went, till he reached a portion where a couple of officers stood on duty by a heavy door, ready to challenge them; but seeing in the half darkness who their visitors were, they drew back saluting, and opened the doors to allow them to pass.“Your Majesty,” said the chamberlain, in a low tone, as they began passing down an inner passage, and Henry read in his voice a protest against the action he was taking.“Have done with your scruples,” he said. “I am not going to assassinate Francis, or even do him ill, only to make sure.” And he proceeded on his way, motioning to another officer, who came forward and saluted, to resume his post.Turning at right angles, and going some distance further on, the King stopped again.“It should be here,” he said quietly, and he moved towards a wide arched door, but drew back suddenly, for a figure emerged from the shadow into the full light, naked sword in hand.“You cannot pass,” said the sentry.“Who are you?” said Henry.“A follower of the noble Comte de la Seine,” was the reply.“And he mounts guards at his chamber door?” said the King haughtily.“Yes; but by what right do you come here and question me?”Henry advanced into the light of a lamp overhead, and threw back his robe.“I have the right,” he said.Denis drew back, but only a step.“The King!” he murmured. “The King!”Henry nodded quickly.“You know me? Good. I have another word I wish to say to your master to-night.”“Sire,” said Denis, dropping on one knee, “it is impossible.”“Impossible!” thundered the King.“Impossible, Sire.”“Impossible! To me! In to your master at once, and tell him I have words to say to him to-night. By Heaven, it is an honour I do him, I think!”“But, Sire—” cried Denis, who still barred the way.“You heard me, boy?”“Yes, Sire.”“Then—obey!”“I regret to repeat to your Majesty that I cannot.”“Cannot!”“No, Sire.”The King burst into a harsh laugh, and turning to the chamberlain, pointed angrily at the boy, before facing him again frowningly.“Stand back, boy, and let me pass.”“I regret, your Majesty. Order me to do something else far more difficult—I would cheerfully obey your commands.”“But I have nothing else which I wish you to do—only this. Let me pass.”“No, Sire.”“Boy, it is the first time in my recollection that I have been refused obedience. Why do you stay me?”“My master, Sire, has ordered me to keep strict guard here.”“Hurst, what am I to do to this obstinate fool?”The chamberlain stepped forward.“Boy,” he said, “it is from sheer ignorance that you place yourself in such a position of danger. Sheathe your sword at once, sir, and let his Majesty pass. Do you not know that there are guards here at every turn? My royal master’s guests will be well protected without your aid.”Denis stood motionless, and made no attempt to stir.“Do you hear, sirrah!” roared the King. “I am in no humour to wait longer. Stand back.”This was too much for the determination of the young esquire. It was a king who spoke, and drawing back slightly, he yielded to circumstances, feeling that his puny efforts were in vain, and guarding the door no longer, he thrust his sword back into its scabbard and stood aside.“Ah!” cried the King, growing mollified upon seeing himself obeyed, and looking admiringly at the lad. “Not bad, Hurst, for a mere boy,” he said. “May I always be as well served by followers of mine. There,” he continued, stepping forward towards the door, and looking back at Denis, “you can follow me, and I will make your peace with your lord, for I am master here.”He tapped sharply at the panel of the door with the hilt of his sword, and Denis heard him breathing heavily as if after some great exertion; but there was no reply, and he tapped again, with the same negative result. Then with an angry snort he said mockingly:“Our young esquire seems to have reason on his side, and the Comte must be asleep. Am I to leave him to his slumbers, Hurst? But maybe he will sleep the better after awakening and hearing all I have to say. Open the door, Hurst. Bah! I need no help for this.” And, brushing by the chamberlain, he noisily raised the latch, thrust open the door, and entered the room.It was the ante-chamber, with the couple of candles burning on the mantel. The richly embroidered cloak lay upon the couch where it had been hurriedly thrown, and the valise lay ready packed and strapped.The King’s eyes flashed as the valise caught his eye, and crossing the room quickly he made for the door of the sleeping chamber, which was ajar.There was no pause to ask for entrance here, for now fully roused, the King thrust open the door, with the light from behind him falling fall upon the unpressed bed.“Hah! What I expected,” cried the King angrily. “This way, Hurst. There is mystery and trickery here.”As he was speaking the clock from one of the turrets was chiming loudly, the sounds of the bells seeming to quiver in the still air and mingle with the faint strains from the room where the dancing was still going on.The chamberlain rushed forward, looked sharply round, and made for the casement; but it was closed and fastened inside.“The boy on guard, Sire, and no one here!” cried the chamberlain. “I do not understand.”“Nor I,” cried the King; “but we will, and that right soon.” Then making for the door, which had fallen back as the chamberlain entered, he dragged it open, crying angrily, “Boy, your master is not sleeping here. Where is he? What have you to say? Ha!” he roared, like the angry lion he had described himself to be. “Quick, Hurst! Our guards! The boy has gone!”

The King walked swiftly on in the direction of that portion of the castle where he had lodged his guest, the polished oak boards of the floor resounding beneath his heavy tread, while the chamberlain heard him keep muttering to himself as he went, till he reached a portion where a couple of officers stood on duty by a heavy door, ready to challenge them; but seeing in the half darkness who their visitors were, they drew back saluting, and opened the doors to allow them to pass.

“Your Majesty,” said the chamberlain, in a low tone, as they began passing down an inner passage, and Henry read in his voice a protest against the action he was taking.

“Have done with your scruples,” he said. “I am not going to assassinate Francis, or even do him ill, only to make sure.” And he proceeded on his way, motioning to another officer, who came forward and saluted, to resume his post.

Turning at right angles, and going some distance further on, the King stopped again.

“It should be here,” he said quietly, and he moved towards a wide arched door, but drew back suddenly, for a figure emerged from the shadow into the full light, naked sword in hand.

“You cannot pass,” said the sentry.

“Who are you?” said Henry.

“A follower of the noble Comte de la Seine,” was the reply.

“And he mounts guards at his chamber door?” said the King haughtily.

“Yes; but by what right do you come here and question me?”

Henry advanced into the light of a lamp overhead, and threw back his robe.

“I have the right,” he said.

Denis drew back, but only a step.

“The King!” he murmured. “The King!”

Henry nodded quickly.

“You know me? Good. I have another word I wish to say to your master to-night.”

“Sire,” said Denis, dropping on one knee, “it is impossible.”

“Impossible!” thundered the King.

“Impossible, Sire.”

“Impossible! To me! In to your master at once, and tell him I have words to say to him to-night. By Heaven, it is an honour I do him, I think!”

“But, Sire—” cried Denis, who still barred the way.

“You heard me, boy?”

“Yes, Sire.”

“Then—obey!”

“I regret to repeat to your Majesty that I cannot.”

“Cannot!”

“No, Sire.”

The King burst into a harsh laugh, and turning to the chamberlain, pointed angrily at the boy, before facing him again frowningly.

“Stand back, boy, and let me pass.”

“I regret, your Majesty. Order me to do something else far more difficult—I would cheerfully obey your commands.”

“But I have nothing else which I wish you to do—only this. Let me pass.”

“No, Sire.”

“Boy, it is the first time in my recollection that I have been refused obedience. Why do you stay me?”

“My master, Sire, has ordered me to keep strict guard here.”

“Hurst, what am I to do to this obstinate fool?”

The chamberlain stepped forward.

“Boy,” he said, “it is from sheer ignorance that you place yourself in such a position of danger. Sheathe your sword at once, sir, and let his Majesty pass. Do you not know that there are guards here at every turn? My royal master’s guests will be well protected without your aid.”

Denis stood motionless, and made no attempt to stir.

“Do you hear, sirrah!” roared the King. “I am in no humour to wait longer. Stand back.”

This was too much for the determination of the young esquire. It was a king who spoke, and drawing back slightly, he yielded to circumstances, feeling that his puny efforts were in vain, and guarding the door no longer, he thrust his sword back into its scabbard and stood aside.

“Ah!” cried the King, growing mollified upon seeing himself obeyed, and looking admiringly at the lad. “Not bad, Hurst, for a mere boy,” he said. “May I always be as well served by followers of mine. There,” he continued, stepping forward towards the door, and looking back at Denis, “you can follow me, and I will make your peace with your lord, for I am master here.”

He tapped sharply at the panel of the door with the hilt of his sword, and Denis heard him breathing heavily as if after some great exertion; but there was no reply, and he tapped again, with the same negative result. Then with an angry snort he said mockingly:

“Our young esquire seems to have reason on his side, and the Comte must be asleep. Am I to leave him to his slumbers, Hurst? But maybe he will sleep the better after awakening and hearing all I have to say. Open the door, Hurst. Bah! I need no help for this.” And, brushing by the chamberlain, he noisily raised the latch, thrust open the door, and entered the room.

It was the ante-chamber, with the couple of candles burning on the mantel. The richly embroidered cloak lay upon the couch where it had been hurriedly thrown, and the valise lay ready packed and strapped.

The King’s eyes flashed as the valise caught his eye, and crossing the room quickly he made for the door of the sleeping chamber, which was ajar.

There was no pause to ask for entrance here, for now fully roused, the King thrust open the door, with the light from behind him falling fall upon the unpressed bed.

“Hah! What I expected,” cried the King angrily. “This way, Hurst. There is mystery and trickery here.”

As he was speaking the clock from one of the turrets was chiming loudly, the sounds of the bells seeming to quiver in the still air and mingle with the faint strains from the room where the dancing was still going on.

The chamberlain rushed forward, looked sharply round, and made for the casement; but it was closed and fastened inside.

“The boy on guard, Sire, and no one here!” cried the chamberlain. “I do not understand.”

“Nor I,” cried the King; “but we will, and that right soon.” Then making for the door, which had fallen back as the chamberlain entered, he dragged it open, crying angrily, “Boy, your master is not sleeping here. Where is he? What have you to say? Ha!” he roared, like the angry lion he had described himself to be. “Quick, Hurst! Our guards! The boy has gone!”

Chapter Thirty One.Leoni’s weapon.But as Hurst made a step forward to summon the guard the King caught him by the wrist.“By my faith,” he ejaculated, “there is black treachery here! Am I in my own palace or in a tavern? These fellows come and go as if the place were their own. A mystery too. But by the crown I swear I’ll solve it!” And for a few moments he stood fuming. “Here, Hurst,” he said hoarsely, “your brains have been sharper than mine, and I’m beginning to think you are right about that portrait. Ambassador—poet—brilliant conversationalist—one who has won himself into favour with us all. Hah!” he went on. “He can be no Comte de la Seine! Can you ever trust a Frenchman? But come on!” And he led the way back into the long gallery. “I’ve got ears like a cat to-night,” he said; “but unfortunately not the eyes of one. Surely those were footsteps down yonder?”“Yes, Sire,” said Hurst. “Beneath that window—a white doublet!”“Yes,” cried the King. “Come on!”“But the guard, Sire? Shall I gammon them?”“No, no,” cried the King impatiently. “This is exciting. We will be our own guard, and find out the truth ourselves.”The King and the chamberlain had not gone many yards along the gallery when they they came to a halt, for a figure barred the way.“Who goes there?” came from out of the gloom.“Pst!” said the King. “Young Carrbroke.—England!” he cried.The figure came nearer, into the light of a window—a slim figure in a white doublet; and the radiance of the moon flashed on a bared and shining sword.“Your Majesty!” he exclaimed, and he dropped on one knee.“Rise,” said Henry. “You are on duty here?”“Yes, Sire.”“Has anyone passed?”“No, Sire.”“You are certain?”“Quite certain, Sire.”“Good. Come, Hurst!” And the two proceeded on their way, turning the corner of the long gallery, passing from gloom to silvery light, and again into the dusk, as they walked beneath the windows, while at the angle the lustrous splendour was shed through red glass, falling brilliantly on the King’s plumed hat, his sword and royal star, as the pair disappeared.Carrbroke turned and looked after the retreating figures.“I wish,” he murmured, “that his Majesty had ordered me to follow him.” And he stood gazing in the direction the King and chamberlain had taken, till growing weary, he stepped aside into the shadow, where he could half seat himself, half lean against the end of a great settee. “How I do hate this guard work of a night! Yes, and there’s the music still going on. I just heard one strain. All bright and gay yonder, and here all dark and dull. But it’s an honour, I suppose, to be on the watch over the ways to his Majesty’s private apartments, and have him come and find me here. It means promotion some day, such private service as this. I wonder where French Denis is? Dancing with the prettiest girl he can find, I’ll be bound. Oh dear, how dreary it is! And I feel as if I could lie down and go to sleep.”Then with a start he was fully on the alert, ready to step out into such light as was shed through the window near.“His Majesty coming back,” he muttered, for quick steps were heard approaching, and a few moments later he stepped quickly out to bar the way as he did a short time before, and with a feeling upon him that he would show his master how well he was on the alert.He challenged, fully believing that it was Henry and the chamberlain, and started violently on finding out his mistake, for it was Francis, who cried angrily:“Who are you?”“Carrbroke, M. le Comte. This is the way to his Majesty’s private apartments. You cannot pass here.”In an instant Leoni had glided alongside, to lay his hand softly on the youth’s arm.“My dear young friend,” he said, “you do not recognise who it is speaking. It is the King’s friend, the Comte de la Seine. The ballroom was hot, and these corridors calm, cool, and refreshing. The Comte is only going round this way to reach his apartment. We can reach it down this passage, can we not?”“No, sir,” said Carrbroke quietly. “I am sorry to have to turn you back, but you must seek some other way. I am on guard here, and it is his Majesty’s commands that no one shall pass this private corridor by night—and no wonder,” thought the lad, as he recalled his discovery of the private doorway not far from where they stood.Francis uttered an impatient growl.“Tell him,” he said angrily in French, to Leoni—“tell him I object to being treated like a prisoner”—words which Leoni translated, in the belief that they were not understood.“The Comte de la Seine says, Monsieur Carrbroke, that surely his Majesty would make an exception in favour of his friend.”“I regret it much,” was the reply, “but unless the King gives me such orders in contradiction of those which I have received, I cannot let you pass. Once more, gentlemen, it is impossible, and you must return. Did you hear me, M. Saint Simon? Ah, sir, you—” He said no more, for Saint Simon had passed onward, as if to go on in spite of all that had been said, but only to turn quickly and seize his arms from behind, while at the same moment his speech was cut short by Leoni’s hand—the subtle Franco-Italian having literally glided at him to clap a strongly smelling hand, moist with some pungent fluid, across his mouth.The action seemed to the lad as instantaneous as its effect. He made a bold brave struggle, uttering a groaning half-stifled sound, and he vainly strove to free himself from the pinioning hands of Saint Simon; while, as if through a misty dream, he saw with starting eyes the dim figure of his master’s guest straight before him, and pointing a stiletto at his throat.The next minute Saint Simon, in obedience to the whispered orders of Leoni, had raised the helpless lad in his arms.“Is there to be no end to this black night’s work?” muttered Francis angrily. “I don’t know how it is. I don’t think I took too much of my brother Henry’s wine, for I wanted to dance; but my head is all confused and strange.”“It was the heat of the room, perhaps, sir,” said Leoni.“Perhaps so. The place was hot and stifling,” said Francis. “There are moments when my brain seems to whirl, and things go round. Did I go to sleep?”“Yes, sir; you were certainly insensible to all that passed for a time.”“Of course I was,” said the King angrily, “if I was asleep; but why don’t you say so? Here, I don’t know what’s the matter with me. I must have dreamed that you took me by the wrist and led me along one of these dark galleries, to stop and lean against some great piece of furniture while something was going on. Then all was dark and strange again, and I seemed to be going for ever along dark passages, till I felt the fresh air coming in through an open window looking out upon the terrace. Well, come, Saint Simon; that was not dreaming.”“No, sir,” said the young courtier drily.“You were suffering from excitement, sir,” said Leoni quietly. “A touch of vertigo. You have been doing too much of late. But you feel better now?”“Oh yes, better now—and worse, for I am not certain but what this rough dealing with that boy is not part of another dream.”“That is no dream, sir,” said Leoni meaningly; “but be silent and let me guide. We are on our way to make our escape.”“Escape!” whispered back the King excitedly. “Then—then—oh, it’s coming back quite clearly. You have tried and failed?”“Hist! Silence, Comte!” whispered Leoni, in a commanding tone, as he turned upon the speaker, but without taking his hand from Carrbroke’s lips. “Our task is nearly at an end, sir, and I will answer to you later on.—Now, Saint Simon, lay the boy quickly on that couch.”“Have you killed him?” whispered Francis.“No, sir; only plunged him into a deep sleep.—That’s right, Saint Simon.” And then in a mocking tone, “I am afraid that the faithful sentinel will be in trouble when they find him here asleep. I didn’t think to find him here. Now, quick, before we are interrupted again.” And he moved a few steps down the gallery, passing his hand along the hangings which veiled the panelled wall. “Somewhere here,” he muttered; “somewhere here. I seem to know the place so well.”“Leoni,” growled the King, “this night will end in our disgrace, and if it does—”“Hist, sir! there is a way out here,” whispered Leoni. “You hinder and confuse me, and at a time like this, when everything points to success, you—ah, here it is!” For his hand had at last come in contact with the boss, which he turned quickly, pressed hard, making the concealed door swing back, and then stooped in the gloom to raise the arras. “Now, sir; through here—quick!”“What!” said Francis sharply. “Go through there into what may be a trap?”Leoni made no reply, but turned to Saint Simon.“Through with you,” he whispered, with a contemptuous ring in his voice. “I would lead, but I must come last to close the way, for they must not know the route we have taken in our flight.”The young officer passed through without a word, and, half ashamed of his hesitation, Francis followed, to have his hand seized in the darkness by Saint Simon, who led him for a few yards along the dark passage, where they stopped listening, to hear Leoni close the door with a faint, half-smothered click.Leoni joined them the next moment, “Let me pass now and go first,” he whispered. “The passage is very narrow, and dark as dark. Thanks, Saint Simon,” he continued, as he squeezed by him; and then, as if to himself, but loud enough for Francis to hear, “and then if there is any trap or pitfall in the way I shall be the sufferer, and they will hear me and escape. Ah,” he continued to himself, “the way seems easy, and what did the lad say?—that it led after several turns to some stairs which descended to the ground floor, and finally to a door which opened upon a bosky portion of the terrace, and from there led on through various alleys to the river, a flight of steps, and a boat. Ah, a good way to escape; but we must have our horses, and trust to them. Well, once within the grounds—I have not been here all these days for nothing—and it will go hard if I do not find my way to the stabling, where Denis should be waiting with the ready saddled steeds, if he has done his duty as I bade.”As he thought this over to himself, breaking it up, as it were, into sentences between which were whispered words of encouragement to those who followed, bidding them come on, telling them that all was clear, and to beware of “this angle,” and the like, he passed on and on with outstretched hands in front, his fingers gliding on either side over smooth stone walls, till at last he was suddenly checked by a blank.“Ah!” he muttered, as he felt about cautiously. “This should be the top of the steps.” And so it proved; for, proceeding carefully from the angle along to his left, his advanced foot, as he glided it over the floor, rested on an edge.“The topmost stair,” he muttered.Making certain that it was, Leoni uttered fresh warnings, and then began to descend, followed slowly by his companions. At the bottom they proceeded for a while upon the level, when he was brought up short by his fingers encountering on one side the great iron pintle of a hinge, while the other touched the edge of a stone rebate, into which a heavy door was sunk.“Hah!” he uttered, with a sigh of relief. “Here is the way out of this kingly fox-burrow.” And his hand glided down the edge of the door till it came in contact with a huge lock, about which for a few moments his fingers played, while a chill ran through him, filling him with despair, for the truth had come upon him like a flash: there was no key in the lock; the door was fast; and just in this hour of triumph they were as much prisoners as if they were in a cell.“Well, Leoni,” whispered Francis, “why are you stopping? This place makes me feel as if I could not breathe.”“I am not stopping, sir,” said the doctor bitterly; “I have been stopped.”

But as Hurst made a step forward to summon the guard the King caught him by the wrist.

“By my faith,” he ejaculated, “there is black treachery here! Am I in my own palace or in a tavern? These fellows come and go as if the place were their own. A mystery too. But by the crown I swear I’ll solve it!” And for a few moments he stood fuming. “Here, Hurst,” he said hoarsely, “your brains have been sharper than mine, and I’m beginning to think you are right about that portrait. Ambassador—poet—brilliant conversationalist—one who has won himself into favour with us all. Hah!” he went on. “He can be no Comte de la Seine! Can you ever trust a Frenchman? But come on!” And he led the way back into the long gallery. “I’ve got ears like a cat to-night,” he said; “but unfortunately not the eyes of one. Surely those were footsteps down yonder?”

“Yes, Sire,” said Hurst. “Beneath that window—a white doublet!”

“Yes,” cried the King. “Come on!”

“But the guard, Sire? Shall I gammon them?”

“No, no,” cried the King impatiently. “This is exciting. We will be our own guard, and find out the truth ourselves.”

The King and the chamberlain had not gone many yards along the gallery when they they came to a halt, for a figure barred the way.

“Who goes there?” came from out of the gloom.

“Pst!” said the King. “Young Carrbroke.—England!” he cried.

The figure came nearer, into the light of a window—a slim figure in a white doublet; and the radiance of the moon flashed on a bared and shining sword.

“Your Majesty!” he exclaimed, and he dropped on one knee.

“Rise,” said Henry. “You are on duty here?”

“Yes, Sire.”

“Has anyone passed?”

“No, Sire.”

“You are certain?”

“Quite certain, Sire.”

“Good. Come, Hurst!” And the two proceeded on their way, turning the corner of the long gallery, passing from gloom to silvery light, and again into the dusk, as they walked beneath the windows, while at the angle the lustrous splendour was shed through red glass, falling brilliantly on the King’s plumed hat, his sword and royal star, as the pair disappeared.

Carrbroke turned and looked after the retreating figures.

“I wish,” he murmured, “that his Majesty had ordered me to follow him.” And he stood gazing in the direction the King and chamberlain had taken, till growing weary, he stepped aside into the shadow, where he could half seat himself, half lean against the end of a great settee. “How I do hate this guard work of a night! Yes, and there’s the music still going on. I just heard one strain. All bright and gay yonder, and here all dark and dull. But it’s an honour, I suppose, to be on the watch over the ways to his Majesty’s private apartments, and have him come and find me here. It means promotion some day, such private service as this. I wonder where French Denis is? Dancing with the prettiest girl he can find, I’ll be bound. Oh dear, how dreary it is! And I feel as if I could lie down and go to sleep.”

Then with a start he was fully on the alert, ready to step out into such light as was shed through the window near.

“His Majesty coming back,” he muttered, for quick steps were heard approaching, and a few moments later he stepped quickly out to bar the way as he did a short time before, and with a feeling upon him that he would show his master how well he was on the alert.

He challenged, fully believing that it was Henry and the chamberlain, and started violently on finding out his mistake, for it was Francis, who cried angrily:

“Who are you?”

“Carrbroke, M. le Comte. This is the way to his Majesty’s private apartments. You cannot pass here.”

In an instant Leoni had glided alongside, to lay his hand softly on the youth’s arm.

“My dear young friend,” he said, “you do not recognise who it is speaking. It is the King’s friend, the Comte de la Seine. The ballroom was hot, and these corridors calm, cool, and refreshing. The Comte is only going round this way to reach his apartment. We can reach it down this passage, can we not?”

“No, sir,” said Carrbroke quietly. “I am sorry to have to turn you back, but you must seek some other way. I am on guard here, and it is his Majesty’s commands that no one shall pass this private corridor by night—and no wonder,” thought the lad, as he recalled his discovery of the private doorway not far from where they stood.

Francis uttered an impatient growl.

“Tell him,” he said angrily in French, to Leoni—“tell him I object to being treated like a prisoner”—words which Leoni translated, in the belief that they were not understood.

“The Comte de la Seine says, Monsieur Carrbroke, that surely his Majesty would make an exception in favour of his friend.”

“I regret it much,” was the reply, “but unless the King gives me such orders in contradiction of those which I have received, I cannot let you pass. Once more, gentlemen, it is impossible, and you must return. Did you hear me, M. Saint Simon? Ah, sir, you—” He said no more, for Saint Simon had passed onward, as if to go on in spite of all that had been said, but only to turn quickly and seize his arms from behind, while at the same moment his speech was cut short by Leoni’s hand—the subtle Franco-Italian having literally glided at him to clap a strongly smelling hand, moist with some pungent fluid, across his mouth.

The action seemed to the lad as instantaneous as its effect. He made a bold brave struggle, uttering a groaning half-stifled sound, and he vainly strove to free himself from the pinioning hands of Saint Simon; while, as if through a misty dream, he saw with starting eyes the dim figure of his master’s guest straight before him, and pointing a stiletto at his throat.

The next minute Saint Simon, in obedience to the whispered orders of Leoni, had raised the helpless lad in his arms.

“Is there to be no end to this black night’s work?” muttered Francis angrily. “I don’t know how it is. I don’t think I took too much of my brother Henry’s wine, for I wanted to dance; but my head is all confused and strange.”

“It was the heat of the room, perhaps, sir,” said Leoni.

“Perhaps so. The place was hot and stifling,” said Francis. “There are moments when my brain seems to whirl, and things go round. Did I go to sleep?”

“Yes, sir; you were certainly insensible to all that passed for a time.”

“Of course I was,” said the King angrily, “if I was asleep; but why don’t you say so? Here, I don’t know what’s the matter with me. I must have dreamed that you took me by the wrist and led me along one of these dark galleries, to stop and lean against some great piece of furniture while something was going on. Then all was dark and strange again, and I seemed to be going for ever along dark passages, till I felt the fresh air coming in through an open window looking out upon the terrace. Well, come, Saint Simon; that was not dreaming.”

“No, sir,” said the young courtier drily.

“You were suffering from excitement, sir,” said Leoni quietly. “A touch of vertigo. You have been doing too much of late. But you feel better now?”

“Oh yes, better now—and worse, for I am not certain but what this rough dealing with that boy is not part of another dream.”

“That is no dream, sir,” said Leoni meaningly; “but be silent and let me guide. We are on our way to make our escape.”

“Escape!” whispered back the King excitedly. “Then—then—oh, it’s coming back quite clearly. You have tried and failed?”

“Hist! Silence, Comte!” whispered Leoni, in a commanding tone, as he turned upon the speaker, but without taking his hand from Carrbroke’s lips. “Our task is nearly at an end, sir, and I will answer to you later on.—Now, Saint Simon, lay the boy quickly on that couch.”

“Have you killed him?” whispered Francis.

“No, sir; only plunged him into a deep sleep.—That’s right, Saint Simon.” And then in a mocking tone, “I am afraid that the faithful sentinel will be in trouble when they find him here asleep. I didn’t think to find him here. Now, quick, before we are interrupted again.” And he moved a few steps down the gallery, passing his hand along the hangings which veiled the panelled wall. “Somewhere here,” he muttered; “somewhere here. I seem to know the place so well.”

“Leoni,” growled the King, “this night will end in our disgrace, and if it does—”

“Hist, sir! there is a way out here,” whispered Leoni. “You hinder and confuse me, and at a time like this, when everything points to success, you—ah, here it is!” For his hand had at last come in contact with the boss, which he turned quickly, pressed hard, making the concealed door swing back, and then stooped in the gloom to raise the arras. “Now, sir; through here—quick!”

“What!” said Francis sharply. “Go through there into what may be a trap?”

Leoni made no reply, but turned to Saint Simon.

“Through with you,” he whispered, with a contemptuous ring in his voice. “I would lead, but I must come last to close the way, for they must not know the route we have taken in our flight.”

The young officer passed through without a word, and, half ashamed of his hesitation, Francis followed, to have his hand seized in the darkness by Saint Simon, who led him for a few yards along the dark passage, where they stopped listening, to hear Leoni close the door with a faint, half-smothered click.

Leoni joined them the next moment, “Let me pass now and go first,” he whispered. “The passage is very narrow, and dark as dark. Thanks, Saint Simon,” he continued, as he squeezed by him; and then, as if to himself, but loud enough for Francis to hear, “and then if there is any trap or pitfall in the way I shall be the sufferer, and they will hear me and escape. Ah,” he continued to himself, “the way seems easy, and what did the lad say?—that it led after several turns to some stairs which descended to the ground floor, and finally to a door which opened upon a bosky portion of the terrace, and from there led on through various alleys to the river, a flight of steps, and a boat. Ah, a good way to escape; but we must have our horses, and trust to them. Well, once within the grounds—I have not been here all these days for nothing—and it will go hard if I do not find my way to the stabling, where Denis should be waiting with the ready saddled steeds, if he has done his duty as I bade.”

As he thought this over to himself, breaking it up, as it were, into sentences between which were whispered words of encouragement to those who followed, bidding them come on, telling them that all was clear, and to beware of “this angle,” and the like, he passed on and on with outstretched hands in front, his fingers gliding on either side over smooth stone walls, till at last he was suddenly checked by a blank.

“Ah!” he muttered, as he felt about cautiously. “This should be the top of the steps.” And so it proved; for, proceeding carefully from the angle along to his left, his advanced foot, as he glided it over the floor, rested on an edge.

“The topmost stair,” he muttered.

Making certain that it was, Leoni uttered fresh warnings, and then began to descend, followed slowly by his companions. At the bottom they proceeded for a while upon the level, when he was brought up short by his fingers encountering on one side the great iron pintle of a hinge, while the other touched the edge of a stone rebate, into which a heavy door was sunk.

“Hah!” he uttered, with a sigh of relief. “Here is the way out of this kingly fox-burrow.” And his hand glided down the edge of the door till it came in contact with a huge lock, about which for a few moments his fingers played, while a chill ran through him, filling him with despair, for the truth had come upon him like a flash: there was no key in the lock; the door was fast; and just in this hour of triumph they were as much prisoners as if they were in a cell.

“Well, Leoni,” whispered Francis, “why are you stopping? This place makes me feel as if I could not breathe.”

“I am not stopping, sir,” said the doctor bitterly; “I have been stopped.”

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