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 Another Random Document on
Scribd Without Any Related Topics
 Groping upward, he patted a little leaden image of the Virgin that hung
from a loop in his cap, patted it without reverence but rather as one who
would say, God is on my side.

"Mary have mercy upon you if you so much as touch that hand except to
kiss it; what it gropes it grasps, and what it grasps it crushes. You mean the
torch, eh, Monsieur Hellewyl?"

"The torch, then, Sire," said I, shivering a little, so significant was the
threat, and so significant too, when taken in conjunction with that threat, the
laugh that foreran it; "would you not set your foot on the torch that burned
your father's house? Would you not trample it, quench it——?"

"I? I am France, while you are——" He flung aside the half-choked

brute with more strength than one would have supposed possible in such a
shrunken frame. "Monsieur d'Argenton, take away the dogs, but do not
hasten poor England lest he die before his next sop gorges him; and you,
Monsieur Hellewyl, wait."

Back he sank upon the cushions, upwards rolled the eyes to

sightlessness, and again he lay as one dead, but breathing heavily from the
exertion.

Without so much as a grimace of repugnance at his task, Monsieur de

Commines caught up a little shaggy Spanish dog, a present from King
Ferdinand the Catholic, and nursing it in his arms turned away, whistling
softly to the rest. The signal was well known and quickly obeyed, for all at
once followed him, England capering clumsily in the joy of dismissal.

I admit my envy went with the wheezing beast. Had I dared, I, too,
would have danced lightheartedly out of the sunshine of the King's presence
into any shadow in Plessis. But such joyful release was not for me. Wait,
said he, and I waited, motionless, still on one knee. Wait for what? To be
gripped, so to speak, by the throat, gibed at, and then flung aside like a dog?
And yet that was the very fate I craved for Jan Meert, whose only offence
was that he had done what he was bid.
 How far the King played a part, and how far his weariness was real no
man could tell, but it's my belief that through all his lassitude nothing
escaped him. No sooner had Monsieur de Commines and the drove of dogs
turned the angle of the court than he sat up.

"On your feet, on your feet!" he said sharply, all the weak huskiness
gone from his voice. "You asked for service, priests serve with their knees
—God be thanked for prayer—but a man with his hands and feet. What
service? Jehan Flemalle's place is vacant, will that suit you?" Pausing, he
again read my thoughts, read them as a man reads a book, and put them into
such blunt words as after his late rebuke I would not have dared to use.
"You are a gentleman, and fit for something better than to feed offal to
brutes? Perhaps; and then again, perhaps not! What do I know of your
fitness? Will you take Jehan Flemalle's place, Monsieur de Helville?"

"If the King bids me," answered I, crestfallen.

"And if the King bids you do him some other service?"

"If my honour, Sire——"

"Honour! God's name sir, I am your honour." The sudden storm that
possessed him frightened me, so fierce was it, so malevolent. His dull
lacklustre eyes blazed up like powder sparks, and he shook his clenched fist
at me as if he desired nothing better than to strike me down. "We have no
room for if's in Plessis, no, nor out of it, on the King's service. If?—If?—do
you serve me, or do you not?"

"With the blessing of God, yes, Sire," I answered.

"Ah!" and the lean hands went together, the fingers pointing upwards,
following the direction of his eyes. "If the blessing of God be not with us
we are indeed undone. His mercy forbid we should ever seek aught contrary
to His will. But I have often found that what I willed, He was graciously
pleased to will also, and this service, Monsieur de Helville, is one peculiarly
pleasing to God Almighty. Tell me, why did you file the bars of The Four
Nations?"
 The question caught me unawares, and for two reasons I had no answer
ready; one, that I am unready in a lie and had not filed the bars at all; the
other, that my first impulse had been to let Jan Flemael do his own filing,
follow what might. Louis was quick to catch my embarrassment, and
shrewd to understand it, at least in part.

"So, so!" he said. "You, too, are of Flanders, Monsieur Hellewyl? But let
that pass. I judge a man by his acts, and whatever your first thought was in
the end you filed the bars. But why? Why? You, too, being of Flanders."

By this time I had my wits at command, and could have lied with a
courtier-like straight face, protesting against the imputation, but that I knew
he would have scoffed at the pretence. Jump with his mood, said Monsieur
de Commines, and as his mood seemed to desire the truth, I told it.

"For the sake of peace, Sire. The wolves would have torn France. Better
one man die than——"

"A whole nation perish! My own thought, Monsieur de Helville, of a

verity my own thought, as God's my witness." Crossing his breast hastily,
he put a hand under him, pushing himself to his feet, and stood facing me,
his back arched, his limbs trembling in weakness, but with the virile fire of
the eyes unquenched, indomitable in their masterful purpose. "I, too, desire
peace, and shall one life stand between to say No! to me? Peace to France,
peace—oh yes, yes, yes"—and he laughed a little cackling laugh, nodding
his trembling head in time to the merriment—"peace, too, to Navarre; poor
distracted Navarre that needs peace even more than does France! It is a
Christian act to bring peace, a Christian act. Monsieur de Helville, does the
service suit you?"

"A life, you said, Sire: whose life?"

For a moment or two the King stood silent, one lean transparent hand
laid across his narrow chest as if for warmth, the other covered his mouth so
that the chin rested on the palm while the teeth gnawed at the finger nails.

"There is a child," he began at last, "a miserable, useless, puling child

——"
 "My God, Sire!" I cried, shaken out of all control, even out of all
trepidation, "is it murder?"

Out flew both hands, open, shaking in a passion of menace, and he

staggered forward a step as if to claw me in the face, but drew back,
panting.

"I cannot! God! I cannot, I cannot!" he muttered, and gulping for breath,
stood staring at me with blinking eyes. "Murder? Shame, Monsieur de
Helville, shame, shame to think such a thought of a Christian king, such a
thought of me—of me!" groping upward, he again patted the image on his
cap. "See! I swear it, by the Virgin, by the Virgin; God strike me—strike me
—eh? You understand? I seek peace, Monsieur, only peace and the good of
France, and—yes, yes,—the pleasing of God, that of course, always, the
pleasing of God. Again I ask, do you say No! to such a service? Dare any
man say No? Dare any—any——"

His voice fell, quavering, his jaw dropped, and a look of abject terror
broke across his face. Swaying on his feet he pawed blindly at the air, then
collapsed backwards in a heap upon the cushions.

"Coctier! Coctier! Coctier!" he screamed. "For the love of Christ, come

to me. Coctier! Coctier! Ah! dear God! not this time, give me a little longer,
just a little, little longer!"

Whimpering, he tore at his throat with powerless fingers, and thinking he

wanted his cloak loosened at the collar I ran forward to help him. But he
dug at me with his nails, spitting like a frightened cat.

"Not you, not you; no man but Coctier. Mon Dieu! will no man send me
Coctier!" again his voice rose to a scream. "The King is dying, Coctier,
Coctier! dying! dying!"

Turning to seek help, I ran full tilt into the arms of Monsieur de
Commines, who, with Maitre Jacques Coctier, the King's physician, was
hastening in answer to the cry.

"Monseigneur——"
 "Dolt! You have crossed him and I bid you not. He is never like this
except when crossed. If the King dies, by God! you may count Jan
Flamael's end a happy one," and striking at me, he ran on.

Down on one knee went Coctier, his fingers busy with the throat of the
King's cloak, and as I drew back I heard Louis' voice as if in answer to a
question.

"A priest? No, no, not this time, not this time. Priests are for the sick, for
the dying—and I must live that there may be peace."

Peace! It was curious how I stumbled on the word. First Mademoiselle,

then Monsieur de Commines, and now the King; all desired peace, but it
seemed to me that to all peace did not mean the same thing.

CHAPTER XIV

MONSIEUR DE COMMINES EXPLAINS

At what length, and in what terms, Monsieur de Commines berated me I

need say little. Those who know his command of vigorous language may
judge, but had his tongue been a birch rod, and I a little thievish boy, caught
red-handed, I could not have been more sorely lashed. Epithets flew as
thick as snow-flakes in winter, but were neither as cold nor as soft. I was a
blundering dolt, a thick-headed fool, a self-seeking, ungrateful pick-thank.

But there I stopped him.

"No, Monseigneur, never ungrateful."

"Ungrateful," he persisted. "Here do I bring you to Plessis, vouch for

you, sow a thought in the King's mind for you, and when it buds you
trample it under foot, never caring that you may trample me down with it. Is
that gratitude?"

"A man has his honour, Monseigneur; yes, and something greater than
his honour; for when it comes to steeping his soul in a child's blood——"

"A child's blood? What do you mean, de Helville?"

"What thought you sowed I do not know," I answered bluntly and

perhaps without much respect, for at the moment my blood was hot, "but
the crop was murder, and I was bid go reap it."

The heavy wrinkles on his forehead, wrinkles in which you might have
sunk a bow-string out of sight, deepened yet further, and he stood gnawing
his lip in silence.

"Yes, I remember now," he said at last. "There is a child, but his name
never passed between us, the King and myself, I mean. Mon Dieu!
Monsieur de Helville, you surely cannot think His Majesty meant any harm
to the boy?"

"You told me, Monseigneur, that my time to think had not yet come, and
so, if it pleases you, I shall think nothing," I answered. "I am a plain man, a
stranger to Plessis and new to its admirable court ways. It may be when the
King says this is black, he means it is white or red or blue, and that to kill a
child is to stuff it with sweetmeats. What passed was this," and I told him
everything in as few words as I could.

By the time I had ended, he was reasonable. That is where a man

frequently differs from a woman; he can see two sides to a question, she
only that which reflects her mood of the moment.

"Thank God he seeks peace," said he when I had finished. "Gaspard, my

friend, my tongue was too rough just now, and yet I think you were wrong.
You should have played him, and so learned his true mind. What he said
was to try you, or, at worst, a jest."
 "A grim jest, Monseigneur, so grim that the King nearly died of its
failure."

Monsieur de Commines shook an open palm in the air as if to push a

thought from him.

"You see how we stand, always on the brink of the grave. Some day, to-
morrow, next month, next year, the grave-edge will crumble under our feet
and yet we dare not say, Sire! take care! All we can do is to hold him back
at all costs and in spite of himself. For when that grave shuts——"

Though my knowledge of Plessis could be measured by days, my ears

had been open as well as my eyes, and so the snap of the fingers that
rounded off the sentence was more informatory than words. It meant, as far
as Monseigneur was concerned, a friend's deep sorrow, a crown minister's
despair, a courtier's ruin; bereavement instant and irremediable to heart,
brain, and ambition; it meant that the present fortunes and future prospects
of the living Commines would certainly be buried with the dead King, and
perhaps also the glory and greatness of France. Nor do I think the certainty
of the one fretted him as sorely as the perhaps of the others. For eleven
years Philip de Commines had been the greatest man in the kingdom,
serving Louis, France, and himself, and loving all three. Let the grave close
over his master, and at the groan of the sepulchral stone rasping to its socket
Love and Service perished. But I think that with him, as with every truly
great man, his life's work was dearer than himself, and his heart, as he
leaned against the little diamond window panes looking out into the narrow
court, was bitter for the loss to France rather than at the crumbling of his
own fortunes.

"At any cost," he said, repeating the words over and over, "at any cost, at
any—any cost."

"Even of a child's murder?"

"What?" he answered looking back across his shoulder, "are you still
harping on that blunder? Oh! you Flemish calves! with but one idea in your
head!"
 "And is Commines not also in Flanders?"

He laughed, and quitting the window came towards me.

"True, friend Gaspard, and a fair hit; but there are great ideas as well as
small ones, and it would be a mercy if you and that Martin of yours could
think of more than one thing at a time."

"Martin?" said I, in despair at this fresh blow. "My own folly you have
made clear, but what has Martin done?"

Monsieur de Commines shook his head gravely, but it was a relief to see
a twinkle of humour shining through the gravity in his eyes.

"Martin has broken that high law of courts which says, Thou shalt run no
risks to thyself for the sake of another! Love and faithfulness are dead in
Plessis, and who is Martin to dare pretend they are alive? Twice every day
he has come out from Tours to glower at the walls that hold his Master
Gaspard, and it is not safe for a man to do that for a week at a stretch.
Tristan has a keen nose and scented treason, love and faithfulness being
perfumes strange to his nostrils, and had I not said No! haling Martin into
Plessis almost by the neck, the misguided fool would have tapped his heels
against that wall in the Rue Trois Pucelles before this."

"What, Monseigneur! You had this thought for us even when you were
scolding me? How can I thank you?"

"Chut, chut," he answered, taking my hand in his, and holding it fast.

"You gave the reason yourself a minute back; is not Commines also in
Flanders?"

That was Philip de Commines all over. Policy and the mean cunning of
court life might crust him round, but underneath were the tender heart, the
broad deep mind, the generous sentiment ever ready to break a way to the
surface. But when I would have pressed to see Martin at once he refused
me.
 "Not yet; the King has a claim before even a brother of Flanders, and the
King is waiting for you."

"Now?"

"Yes, by this time he should be ready. Rochfort is with him but will be
turned out that Monsieur Gaspard de Helville may be received in private
audience. How important we are! But for both our sakes do not fall into the
same trap a second time. Once was pardonable, but twice savours of
suspicion, or what is worse in a man seeking the King's service, a witless
foolishness. The one is natural at Plessis, and to be forgiven, but never the
other! Take this from me; the man who cannot quickly understand a jest and
laugh at it, even when it is against himself, is not fit for nice negotiations."

Leaving Monsieur de Commines' lodgings we turned to the left to the

block set apart for the King's use. It lay east and west, with its windows,
none of the widest, facing south, for the sun was the only living force on
earth that Louis was willing should enter freely. Round the door were
archers of the Scottish guard, on every landing of the stone stairway they
lounged in threes and fours, and half a company were quartered in the outer
room we first entered.

By all three we were challenged in turn, and for every group there was a
different password. But even that security could not satisfy the King's
jealous suspicion. Beyond the great chamber was an anteroom, where three
of the officers of the archers were always in attendance, and well as the
Prince de Talmont was known at court the captain of these would have
turned him back, had it not been for the famous signet which had already
saved our necks in Paris.

But even then the Scot had a scruple of what no doubt he called his
conscience.

"It franks you, Monsieur," he said, pushing his scabbard in front of me

when, Monsieur de Commines having entered, I would have followed, "but
our orders are strict. 'Understand, Lesellè,' His Majesty said to me only to-
day, 'you are to admit no one who does not carry the King's token.'"
 For a foreigner, he spoke good French, but there was a harsh guttural in
the voice that grated in my ears. As to his name, I do not know how it was
spelt, but I give it as I caught the pronunciation.

For a moment Monseigneur looked perplexed as he stood with the

curtain drawn back and one foot already across the threshold. To argue with
the wooden-witted northerner was impossible, and he dared not risk the
sound of an altercation at the King's door. Louis might have scented treason
and called out to Lesellè to strike, not knowing nor caring who was struck.
Nor would Lesellè have been slow to obey. I think I have said there was not
much love between Monsieur de Commines and these mercenaries of the
guard. But the embarrassment was only for an instant; Monseigneur was not
the Prince de Talmont for nothing.

"The King is well served," he said courteously. Slipping the ring from
his finger he dropped it into my palm across the outstretched steel and at the
same moment withdrew himself into the King's chamber. "Show your
token, Monsieur de Helville, and lose no time; already His Majesty has
been made to wait."

"The King's signet, Monsieur," said I, catching my cue and shaking the
collet within an inch or two of Lesellè's surprised eyes. "Will you withdraw
your sword, or must I push it aside?"

It seemed at first as if he would have protested against the trick played

upon him; then a saving sense of humour came to his rescue, and with a
laugh he lowered his sword. Only, as I let the curtain fall behind me, I heard
him say:

"Next time your hand comes so close to my face, Monsieur Whoever-

you-are, I hope it will have no King's ring on its finger."

There was no time to reply. Taking me by the arm, Monsieur drew me

on, and again I found myself in the King's presence.
 CHAPTER XV

A LESSON IN DIPLOMACY

Before ever I had set foot in Plessis I had been warned that Louis was a
man of many moods, many contradictions. Some of these sides of character
I had already seen, but now a new, and at times a nobler vein, was brought
to the surface; I was to see the King who governed. France had had kings
who prayed, kings who fought, kings who reigned, but rarely a king who
governed.

The apartment at the end of which we stood was long, narrow, and lofty,
with windows only to the south. These were wider than the average in
Plessis but were so fast barred that the power of the sun was greatly broken
even though there were no hangings to shut out the heat. The floor was
cumbered by but little furniture. A narrow table stood near the farther end
with a few carved chairs surrounding it; a sacred picture or two, with a
crucifix between, broke the dull flat of the walls; beyond these there was
nothing of ornament. A prosperous merchant in any of the larger cities
would be better housed than was Louis of France in his private cabinet.

Beyond the table the eastern end of the room terminated in an apse partly
cut off by curtains, a kind of oratory dimly visible by the aid of a single
hanging lamp. Facing the table and with his back to the oratory sat the
King, a litter of papers spread out before him. He was again dressed in
scarlet satin heavily fringed with fur, and there was such a tinge of colour
on his hollow cheeks that at first I thought he was in better health than at
the time of his seizure. But presently it was clear that this wholesomeness
came not from within but from without, and was nothing more than the
reflection of his clothing. It was a trivial thing, and yet its very triviality
was significant of the King's thoroughness. Louis was as careful of his
complexion as any faded coquette, but the deception was one of policy, not
vanity. It was not well for France that men should know how ill was the
King of France.
 At his elbow stood Rochfort the Chancellor, nor, though there was a
swift upward glance of the King's eyes, did our entrance turn aside the flow
of words.

"I repeat," he was saying, rustling his hand among the papers, "Spain
will not trouble us. Her toy, the Kingdom of Naples, fills her mind for the
present. What says the Scripture?"—and he crossed himself, bowing with a
duck of the head towards the table, and patting at a venture one of the
leaden images hung about his person. In his opinion all the saints were on
his side, and it did not matter very much which he invoked—"a fool's eyes
are on the ends of the earth! Let Spain divide herself in Italy; Rome may be
trusted to see she does not grow too strong; there are such things as Estates
of the Church! Eh, Rochfort, eh? Well, what next?" again he glanced at us,
still standing where we had entered. "England? I think not, I think not. Now
that Edward has eaten himself to death—dear Edward—there is no need
even to fling a sop to England. Peace in the south, peace in the north, there
remains then our beloved—son! Our beloved fool!" he snarled suddenly,
both his hands shivering amongst the papers like a wind in dry leaves, while
he rocked to and fro on his seat, his head sunk between his shoulders like
some painted image of malevolent death. "Oh that such a father should have
such a son! Rochfort! It makes me—it makes me—well, well, well, even he
has his uses; he reminds me of Flanders. Flanders!" he was gnawing his
finger-tips now, his glaring eyes fixed on us, but vacantly, as though he saw
us not.

Monsieur de Commines touched my elbow.

"There is a stroke coming, be on your guard," he said, without seeming

to speak, "I know the symptoms!"

"Flanders!" went on the curiously roughened shrill voice that vibrated

through me like the jarring of a tense chord, "there lies our business to-day.
Let Spain grow weak in Italy, let England prey upon herself till only the
picked bones are left, the policy of France is to widen her borders near
home. Rochfort, we must have Flanders. The Dauphin, our beloved—fool!
is contracted to that milk-mouthed Flemish princess of three and a half.
That marriage will never come to pass, and we must make good our claim
now."
 As in the games with these playing-cards which His Majesty had
introduced into court use there are certain well-defined rules, so also are
there in the greater game of politics. When the King paused, with a
challenge in his voice and attitude, Monsieur de Rochfort promptly
responded to his lead, asking the question he was meant to ask.

"Flanders? Yes, Sire, but how make good our claim now? Nay, if I might
hint a doubt, have we a claim?"

"Yes, yes, yes," answered Louis, his voice rising clear above its common
level of sharp huskiness. The Chancellor's astute second question went
farther than the King had intended, but not too far, for a smile twitched his
lips. "The claim of every just man to right the wrong, to free the oppressed,
and bring intolerable disorder to an end. Flanders is in flames and I must
quench the fire for my dear son's sake. It has been reported to me——"

Again his finger-tips were drawn in between the yellow teeth, and again
Monseigneur nudged me. "Again I say, be on your guard," he whispered
almost soundlessly.

"——reported on high authority that a certain Jan Meert holds the

country in terror, burning, ravaging, murdering, plundering where he
pleases, and with none to check him. The peasantry he grinds, the lesser
lords he crushes one by one. The subjects of the princess who is to be my
beloved son's dear wife go in fear of their lives because of this Jan Meert,
and I have a mind to make a sharp end of Jan Meert. Eh, Chancellor?"

"It would be bare justice, Sire," began Rochfort cautiously. This time the
lead was not so clear, and Louis did not easily pardon blunders. "Indeed, a
righteous act, but—but—"

"We are in Plessis and Flanders is far off? Splendour of God! Rochfort,
are my fingers so weak or my arm so short that for the honour of God and
the upholding of the law I cannot reach and crush a miserable plundering
rogue? By Saint Claude! I'll do it, I'll do it—if it be worth my while. Eh,
Monsieur le Prince, whom have you there with you? Is it some private
business? Perhaps some petition to present? Some news to tell? Chancellor,
we will excuse you; de Talmont has something to say, and you know I am
always greedy of secrets. Kings govern by hiding their knowledge. Qui
nescit dissimulare nescit regnare. And your companion? Ah ha! ah ha! it is
—Yes, yes, it is Monsieur Hellewyl. Well, Monsieur, do you still desire to
serve France?"

As we moved forward, Rochfort retired by a door at the side of the

oratory, leaving us alone with the King. But though the question asked was
a direct one, I could only answer it by a bow. My mouth had suddenly gone
dry, so that I dared not attempt words. But for Monsieur de Commines' hint
I might have assumed that our overhearing of the King's reference to Jan
Meert was coincidence, but Monseigneur's significance forbade that
mistake. Louis was dangling his bribe, but a bribe to what end? It was de
Commines who replied for me.

"I can say Yes to that, Sire."

"So, so, but of all men, d'Argenton, you should know we can only
employ servants who are faithful."

"I guarantee Monsieur de Helville's fidelity, Sire."

"You guarantee? you! Of what use is that to me? Am I to hang you if this
de Helville of yours breaks faith? And yet it is guarantees I want. Have you
a father or a mother, Monsieur?"

"Neither, Sire," I replied, wetting my lips, "both are dead."

"That is unfortunate," he said, the sour sardonic smile twitching his

mouth afresh, "for I have noticed that a man is sometimes faithful when I
can hold and crush his mother, as I hold and crush this," and his fingers shut
viciously over a sheet of the paper spread in front of him, rasping it into a
crumpled mass, which he flung briskly aside. "But not all men, no! some
are superior to such weakness and they mostly rise high—when they are not
hung first! Sisters, then? brothers? None? Well, they would not be
sufficient, especially if the brother were an elder one. What then? Solignac
is burned, there are no lands to forfeit; with you it is all to gain and nought
to lose, and yet the fear of loss is a surer guarantee than the hope of gain.
Suggest something, d'Argenton."
 "There are other women in the world besides mothers, Sire."

Louis nodded and his cold eyes travelled over me thoughtfully. As once
before he had searched my thoughts, he was now appraising my person as
one would the points of a horse.

"Twenty-five, broad enough, tall enough, comely enough, and not

altogether a fool. Who is the woman, Monsieur de Helville?"

Had I been more of a courtier I could have lied, warned by the King's
cruel cynicism. But at the sudden question the blood rose to my face, and I
stammered:

"There is none, your Majesty, at least there is none worthy——"

"Oh ho! he is modest, this sucking envoy of yours, d'Argenton. Well, all
the better. Come, Monsieur, her name and degree? The King speaks."

From mockery he passed into incisive demand, and though what I had
already said was true enough in the sense he meant, I was constrained to
answer. In five minutes he had dragged from me all there was to know
concerning Brigitta and, in his cunning, inferred much more than the truth.
With his elbows on the table, and one hand half-covering his mouth, he
stared up at me until I ended, the sallow parchment of his face withered into
wrinkles.

"A peasant! And he would marry her! What do you say to that,
d'Argenton?"

"Only that Monsieur de Helville is a man of contradictory tastes, Sire;

but, for my part, I prefer second thoughts."

"Pish! you talk riddles, and I do not like what I do not understand," said
Louis. Though he spoke to Commines, his gaze never left my face, and I
was conscious that he played with me as a tolerant cat plays with a mouse.
"So you would marry her, though she is only a peasant? Some would say,
have you no droits de Seigneur in your parts! and cry Fie! on you for your
honesty. But not I. Her limbs may be as white as any satin lady's, her cheeks
as pink, her lips as red to kiss, her breath as sweet, and what more can five
and twenty ask! eh?"

He paused, as if for an answer, but I, conscious of Monseigneur's veiled

reference to Mademoiselle, and that I was practising at least half a lie, could
do no more than stammer an inane something to the effect that he was very
good, which was in itself a lie, and at which banality the grin broke out
afresh.

"For my part," he went on, "I am well enough pleased. After all, you are
a gentleman; the breed will be one degree nearer to the sod and all the better
for the mixture. It is from the people that salvation must come to the nation,
not from the nobles. Besides she is a hostage, and being a peasant, will be
the easier handled. For her sake, be faithful, Monsieur, or by God!" and
leaning aside, he shook his finger backwards and forwards at the dim shrine
behind him, "by God! I say, those white limbs shall suffer, and those red
lips scream, nor will all the love in the world keep a curse of Gaspard de
Helville off them. The marriage bed with Solignac as your roof-tree, or the
naked rack, Monsieur, and at your own choice."

"I have already promised, Sire——"

"No, Monsieur, no," he interrupted, "you have promised nothing.

D'Argenton has promised for you, which is quite another thing. Promises?
Bah! what are promises? I have known even kings break them! Give me an
oath." Fumbling at his throat he loosed a collar of reliquaries which hung
round his neck and spread it on the table before him with more real
reverence than I had ever yet seen him display, even when taking the name
of Christ in his mouth. "Now, Monsieur, lay your hand there. No, no, down
on your knees, on your knees. What! you kneel to me, and yet dare stand
upright in the presence of God Almighty, before Whom you swear? Down
on your knees, I say! when you call Christ and His saints to witness. Now,
repeat: I Gaspard de Helville, otherwise, Hellewyl, swear by my honour in
this life, and by my salvation in that to come, that I shall perform the King's
service faithfully to the end, or, failing such performance, will return
forthwith to Plessis to confess the failure and its cause, so help me God and
His Saints."
 Speaking from my knees, and with both hands spread over the little heap
of holy things, I repeated the oath clause by clause. As I ended, and while
still kneeling, Louis snatched the necklet from under my palms, and
touching a spring in one of the reliquaries, pressed the little grey morsel it
contained to my lips.

"Consummatum est!" he cried triumphantly, "Now indeed we have you,

have you body and soul, bound fast for this world and that which is to
come. 'Tis the Cross of Saint Lo, Monsieur de Helville, whereon who
forswears himself dies within the year and perishes eternally. The
guarantees are complete. What a man will not do for a woman's sake he will
for his life—if not for his soul. His soul!" he groaned complainingly, the
unctuousness slipping out from his voice as suddenly as it had slipped in.
"We spend so much time saving our souls that France suffers. Cannot the
Saints save us and have done with it! But there's a thought there;
d'Argenton, your arm."

Pushing back his chair, the King rose painfully to his feet, a meagre
skeleton of a man, bent by more than the weight of years.

"On this occasion when we seek the peace of the world it would be a
Christian duty to ask the blessing of Saint Eutropius."

Leaning on Monseigneur, Louis limped towards the oratory, dragging

one foot rasping on the floor as he walked.

"It can do no harm," I heard him mutter. "It is always well to keep
heaven on our side, eh, d'Argenton?"

"Yes, Sire, but is it wise that the priest should over-hear——?"

"Tut, tut; he never leaves Plessis. Besides, a priest has a neck between
his frock and his shaven crown as well as another man."

"But, Sire, his office?"

Louis paused, looking round, so that I saw the profile of his wrinkled
forehead and thin nose white against the gloom of the shrine.
 "I am faithful to the Church, d'Argenton, no man more so, but, by God!
the Church had better be faithful to me, for there's no benefit of clergy to
traitors! We desire your prayers, dear father," he went on loudly, "to the end
that an enterprise of peace may have the blessing of Saint Eutropius upon it.
Only, no Latin, pray in honest French so that I, as well as the good Saint,
may understand what you say." Down on his knees he went by the rail,
Monseigneur on a faltstool behind him, while I, apparently forgotten, knelt
in turn on the bare floor. "To the point, and not too long," said Louis. "Like
myself, he is busy in good works, and we must not waste his time."

Out from the deeper shadow at the side of the altar a black-frocked
figure stole into view.

"Then you do not desire a special office, Sire?" said a soft voice.

Louis raised his head.

"Anything, man, so that you are quick, and to the point. If I could have
spoken for myself, we would have done by this."

There was a brief silence, to allow, no doubt, for a collecting of thoughts.

Where a man is accustomed to have prayers put into his mouth it is not
always easy to draw them fresh from the heart upon an emergency. But at
last the soft voice broke into a murmur.

"Forasmuch, oh holy Saint Eutropius, as it has pleased thee to put into

the heart of thy faithful servant purposes of blessed peace, grant, we
humbly beseech thee, that the consummation he seeks may richly abound to
—to—"

"The greatness of France," interrupted Louis in a loud voice; "make

haste to the end."

"The greatness of France," went on the soft voice submissively, "and the
furtherance of the Lord's eternal Kingdom. Grant, also, we pray thee, that
upon the King, thy servant, may descend with great power refreshment and
strength to body and soul——"
 "There, there," said Louis, rising heavily to his feet, "cut it short at the
body and leave the soul for another time. It is not well to importune the
blessed saint by too many requests at once. The body will do for to-day."
And once more taking Monseigneur's arm, he shuffled back to his seat.
 CHAPTER XVI

A MISSION OF PEACE

"Now that we have the blessing of God we may go on," said Louis,
biting his fingernails so closely that the beginnings of what he had next to
say were mumbled through a hand upon his mouth. As words they were
smooth enough, but when I remembered the King's reply to Monseigneur
upon the very altar step the threat behind the flattery could not be ignored.
"I am going to trust you, Monsieur de Helville, even as I trust the worthy
priest who serves me and the Church at the altar behind us. It is enough for
common men that they look no farther than to-morrow or next year, but
nations live by generations, and we who think for France must think in tens
of years. We have prayed for peace, but through a little seven years' child in
Navarre there is a menace." He paused, slipping a level hand up to shroud
his eyes, and watched me keenly. But this time Monsieur de Commines'
lesson had been better learned and I made no reply. My wisdom was to let
the King's meaning unfold itself beyond doubt. Apparently I stood the test
to his satisfaction, for he went on, suavely—

"Your outburst of the other day, Monsieur de Helville was very natural,
very much to your credit, and though the shame of your most unworthy
suspicion nearly cost me my life, you are pardoned. Listen now. Spain is
tangled in Italy, and with all her will to trouble France she has not the
power; the princes of Italy, Sforza, Visconti, Medici, Este, and a dozen
other pigmies, are my friends; James of Scotland and John of Portugal are
my close allies; England," and he snapped his fingers contemptuously,
"England is a muzzled dog; Austria stands upon its mercenaries, and my
pay is better than Maximilian's. Only little Navarre is left, and through my
niece, Queen Catherine, half Navarre is already mine. Have you ever had a
cinder in your eye, Monsieur de Helville? a speck almost too petty to be
seen, and yet it frets, and frets, and frets? That miserable half of little
Navarre is the petty speck in the eye of France, and Gaston de Foix, the
seven years' son of the Count of Narbonne, is the edge that frets and frets
and frets."
 Again he paused, and this time I was fool enough to speak.

"I do not understand, Sire, how so young a child——"

"God's name, man, who bid you understand? I said, Listen! And will not
the child grow? and is he not in collateral line for the crown? The father is
past middle age and spent, but the child will become the man, and through
that miserable half of Navarre there will be a way open for Spain to strike
France twenty years hence. Who knows what feeble brain may govern
France when that day comes? I—I—I can hardly hope—D'Argenton! my
cordial; quick—quick—um—um—um—there! that is past."

He sat back in his chair, very white and breathing heavily, while from a
wide-mouthed crystal he sucked loudly and with evident satisfaction, long
sips of a yellowish fluid.

"Let the rest wait till to-morrow, Sire," said Commines, who bent over
him.

But if Louis did not spare his servants neither did he spare himself.

"Will to-morrow be less full than to-day? Besides, I am in a fever until

this question of Navarre is settled. We must have the child, Monsieur de
Helville."

"How, Sire?"

"Do you hear him, d'Argenton? What kind of a tool is this you have put
into my hand, with his hows and whys and buts? How? Do I care how! That
is your business. There are a dozen ways, all safe, all sure. Oh, it is the
curse of life to have a brain to think and yet be forced to leave the execution
to—to—blundering hands. How? Steal him if you like! Next you will ask—
you who are so nice and have such charitable thoughts of your King—you
will ask, Why? Well, I shall tell you, Monsieur, I shall tell you. Even your
scruples will admit the scheme is a worthy one. If France educates the child,
France educates him for a friend, France shows him that his interests are
French, not Spanish, and so we hold Navarre on both frontiers and may be
at peace. The mind of a child of seven is wax, is wax; and to win a child's
love is not difficult. This time I ask you, Do you understand?"

"I understand, Sire, that by fair means or—or——"

"Yes, say it, or by foul! How he chokes over it, d'Argenton. Do you truly
think him fit for the work?"

"I warrant Monsieur de Helville to be brave, your Majesty, to be prompt,

to be devoted, and to be no fool."

"Devoted?" Louis fastened on the word like a starved rat on a bone.

"Yes, but to himself or to me? To his own interests or to mine?"

"To you, Sire, to you."

"Ay! he had better. I have his oath, and I'll have the girl; yes, and I would
have him too, if he played me false, have him though I bribed every court in
Europe to find him."

"Sire, Sire, you mistake your man," cried Monseigneur, his voice full of
a generous indignation. "Threats——"

"But there are promises, too, d'Argenton, promises and rewards. First, let
come what may, you shall face Jan Meert; that I set my word to. Were I a
man of your inches, Monsieur de Helville, and of that courage for which
your patron vouches, I would ask nothing better than that in my own private
quarrel. Next, fulfil to the letter the instructions I shall give you and I will
not only build you a new Solignac, greater than the first, but for the lands of
Hellewyl you shall have double, no matter whether Burgundy, France, or
The Empire holds them; to that also I set my word. Talmont, am I a niggard
to those who serve me? You know I am not. You came to me with empty
hands and now, if every finger were a palm, they would be overflowing.
Well, Monsieur, are you satisfied? At one stroke you bring peace to a
nation, vengeance to yourself, wealth to your race. Does your oath hold?"

The extraordinary winning powers of the man, the sudden sweetness of

tone, the softened kindliness, the generous manner, the vibration of pleading
in the voice, swept me from my feet rather than the prodigality of the
promises. Nor was it a new thing that a prince should be brought up at a
foreign court as a pledge of peace. The novelty was in the method of
securing the prince's person, and that, weighed against the advantages, did
not trouble me much.

"I'll do it, Sire, I'll do it, though there should be twenty Counts of
Narbonne to say No! Nor will there be time lost on the road. Once I have
the boy I shall make straight for Plessis——?

"Tse! Tse!" hissed Louis between his teeth, while he wagged a finger
hastily at me. "No, no, you go too fast. Who bade you make straight for
Plessis? The hand of France must not appear in this affair at all."

"But, Sire, my credentials?"

"Credentials? What? Parchments with a King's seal and countersign to

certify you have the authority of France to go a-thieving? Why not ask for
the oriflamme at once! By the splendour of God! d'Argenton, but the fellow
thinks himself an ambassador plenipotentiary at the very least! Credentials!
Authority under my hand to abduct Gaston de Foix! Do you take me for a
fool, Monsieur?"

"Then, Sire," said I bluntly, "if I am caught, I hang."

"Ah!" answered Louis unctuously, and patting a saint's figure haphazard

as he spoke, "All is as God wills, and surely it is as honourable to die for
peace as to die in war?"

"Then, Sire, having secured the boy?"

"Having, with the blessing of God, secured the boy, Monsieur de

Helville, you will then—where is the letter I bade Rochfort seal with your
signet, d'Argenton? It should be amongst the papers on the table."

"With my signet?" answered Monseigneur uneasily, "I have no

knowledge—the Chancellor did not convey to me—that is, I had not heard
——"
 "No, no; there was no need you should. Ah! here it is," and Louis,
pushing aside some parchments which I do not doubt he had placed where
they lay that they might conceal the folded paper he now drew towards him
with the tips of his claws, lifted an oblong letter sealed broadly upon the
back, and tied with silk, "Rochfort prepared it for me. Write your name
across the corner, my friend, if you please. Since Monsieur desires
credentials, this will serve him. So! your hand shakes, de Talmont, why is
that? Now, Monsieur de Helville, attend; once, by God's grace you have
secured the boy, open this and do what it bids you. That is all; d'Argenton,
take him away and give him what he will need. Credentials! there are your
credentials, money, money, and again money! What man of the world asks
for finer credentials? Tell him the route too, as he travels it he will learn
now far the arm of France can stretch whether to succour or to strike."

Pushing himself to his feet, stiffly and with evident pain, Louis turned
towards the altar behind him and bowed humbly, crossing his breast
repeatedly, then faced again towards me.

"The God of peace go with you, Monsieur de Helville, and at all times
and in all acts remember Him you serve. Ay, ay," he went on, his voice
hardening, "and remember, too, your Brigitta of the white limbs and red
mouth, for, by the same God, I'll not forget her or you."

The last I saw of him was a bowed, half-crouched figure, a grey-pale

face looking out from between bent shoulders, and a lean hand shaken
shrewishly in the air.

I was to remember whom I served! Did he mean God or himself? For all
his assumption of servile religiosity, I doubted if Louis set even the seat of
the Almighty higher than the throne of France.

CHAPTER XVII
 SOUTH FROM PLESSIS

Monseigneur made no comment until we were in the freshness of the

open air; then he drew a long breath as if a strain had been relaxed.

"It might have been worse. Come, now, that I may fill your purse; you
and Martin must leave Plessis to-night."

"But, Monseigneur," I protested, "this is not at all what I desired."

"What you desired! Who comes to Plessis to do what he desires? And

remember this, my friend, there is no turning back from the King's plough.
But to tell you the truth, it is not what I desired for you, not exactly what I
had in my mind for you, and yet I was a true prophet. All is as the King
wills. Keep that truth in your head, walk at all times by its light, and your
ten days in the rat-trap will not have been wasted."

I made no reply, and we turned the angle of the royal block in silence. In
silence, too, we crossed the court to his lodgings; but with his hand upon
the latch, Monsieur de Commines, with a gayer note in his voice, repeated
my complaint.

"Not all you desired? Perhaps it is; perhaps it is even more than your
imagination groped after. The petulance of ignorant youth starts like a
shying horse at the first obstacle, and cries: I do not like the road. It is the
method that troubles me, not the end. The end!" and the last of the cloud
upon his face dissolved in merriment. "I think I would play the end of the
game myself if I were five-and-twenty."

"But to be a thief, an abductor of children——"

"Does that choke you? Then why did you not say No! to the King?"

"There was a glamour about him," I began.

"Did I not tell you he had many moods? He can make any man love him
—for the moment—when that is his pleasure or his profit. Besides, you
over-state the case; there is only one child, and he a very little one."
 "It is theft, all the same."

"Pooh! We are all thieves in court when a theft profits. A reputation, an

office, a title, a province, it is all a question of degree. What? If I am His
Majesty's ambassador at Cologne or Rome—with credentials, mind you!—
is it not that I may steal an advantage? The greater the theft, the greater the
honour—if only the theft be successful! There you have the world's
diplomacy in a sentence. We lie and thieve abroad for the good of our
country. Who are you, friend Gaspard, that you should be more scrupulous
than I?"

"But what kind of a household shall I find at—at——?"

"Where you are going? Charming, charming; especially if, as I imagine,

it is the frank abandonment of country life without etiquette or punctilio."

His harangue upon the honourable methods of court life was, of course,
half jest, but there was also so much of truth in his irony that complacency
and self-respect once more lifted their head, swaggering as if there was no
such thing as a lie in the world. After all, what was my task but to do in
units what for years Monsieur de Commines had schemed to do by
thousands, in the transferring of whole principalities from one ruler to
another?

As I pushed open the door of Monseigneur's private apartment and stood

aside to allow him to precede me, Martin, standing within, caught sight of
me. What a cry he gave! "Monsieur Gaspard! Oh, thank God! thank God!"
It warmed my heart to hear him. Without ceremony he pushed past
Monsieur de Commines and caught me by both hands; nor would
Monseigneur listen to my apologies.

"Love is no respecter of persons," said he, clapping him on the shoulder.

"I told you Master Martin had a heart in his breast, and so would make a
bad courtier. All the same, I wish I had fifty such insolents about me. I
would be safer than Louis in Plessis for all its walls and moats. That you
will have Martin with you on your journey makes me easier in my mind."
 Dropping my hands, Martin bowed humbly, angry with himself that his
unceremonious impetuosity had, perhaps, lowered the dignity of his
Monsieur Gaspard.

"Your pardon, Monseigneur, and yours, Monsieur Gaspard; I forgot

myself. But when one has gone hungry for ten days——"

"That's a fine phrase of yours, my friend; say no more lest you spoil it."

"Then, Monseigneur, if I am permitted? You spoke of a journey—is it

soon?"

"To-night."

"But not to Tours, Monseigneur, not to the Street——?"

"The Street of the House of the Great Nails! No, my friend, to the
south."

"To the south to-night! God be praised for all His mercies! I'll go for the
horses, Monsieur Gaspard."

"Yes," said de Commines, laughing at his haste, but a little bitterly, "go,
go, for there is no time to be lost. It's a strange world, de Helville," he went
on as the door closed. "Here we have the greatest names in the land, and
every ambitious schemer in France intriguing to set foot in Plessis, and this
honest heart thanking God unfeignedly that he rides away into the darkness,
—he does not even ask where! But now to arrange for your journey. For the
King's peace and your own, leave Plessis to-night, late as it is. You will just
have time before the gates close, when none can pass. Halt at Ouzay for the
night—it is the first of the King's posts, and put up at the sign of the
Laughing Man. Say to the host as you enter, 'Is the good-man of Tours in
the neighbourhood?' and having received his answer, say no more. Sup on
the best and sleep softly, there will be no reckoning to pay. But in the
morning a man, wearing a bunch of trefoil in his hat, will give you your
next instructions. Follow these, but ask no questions. As you find it at
Ouzay, so will it be straight through to Navarre. Everywhere you rest you
will be expected, or, rather, not you, but the King's messenger, and
everywhere you pass shot free."

"Then what is this for?" asked I, for while he was speaking he had filled
a wallet with more gold coin than Solignac had ever seen in all my five-
and-twenty years.

"For diplomacy," he answered laughing. "Where you cannot steal you

must bribe. But there, I hear the horses in the courtyard, and since needs
must when the King bids, the sooner you go south the sooner Solignac will
give you a roof to your head. And who knows but the journey may find you
a mistress for it! Brigitta? H'm, perhaps Brigitta, though I am no lover of
swineherd wenches. Let me see the King's letter a moment."

I took it from the inner pocket where, half mechanically, I had placed it
for safety, and handed it to Monsieur de Commines—an oblong envelope of
crisp paper, a palm and a half in length by a palm wide, stout, substantial,
close-fastened. He took it, and turned at once to the seal.

"My cypher and quarterings exactly, even to the flaw on the upper right
hand corner of the collet; my shade of wax too, even to the perfume I
commonly use. Men call me avaricious. It's a lie, de Helville; money is a
good servant but the worst of masters. Yet I would give five hundred, yes a
thousand livres to know what is written within, or even to see the writing.
Who knows but it may seem my very own? If I do nothing by halves,
neither does the King my master, though how he procured the signet I
cannot imagine." With a sigh and a shake of the head he raised his eyes
from the seal. "No; truly things have not turned out as I desired."

In the courtyard he bade Martin follow with Roland and the pack-horse,
and walked with me to the outer gate, his arm linked in mine. Neither
spoke, for he was wrapped in deep thought, his face as dismal as if we
followed a funeral. But as we passed along the outer fosse I saw his eyes
lighten.

"Credentials! sneered the King," and he tapped the paper with his finger.
"Perhaps he was more right than he supposed! That letter, without
superscription though it is, may open a smooth way for you of which His
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