The King's Esquires Part 42

"The life of a n.o.ble prince, Sire, is much to all the world, and--"

"You know him?" interrupted the King sharply.

"Last year in Paris, Sire, he befriended my brother, who could speak nothing of him but good; and I have not told you, Sire, that he is very ill."

"Bah!" cried the King.

"Deadly sick from his wound, Sire."

"His wound!" said the King, starting.

"Yes, Sire. In the daring escape, when two of the guards and Sir Robert Garstang were wounded, the Comte was struck down by one of your brave halberdiers."

"And serve the villain right," cried the King impetuously. "Brave fellow! has he been rewarded?"

"No, Sire. That is left for your Majesty to do."

"And it shall be done, on my royal word," cried the King. "Wounded and sick, say you?"

"Yes, Sire; I have seen him, and he is very weak."

"Well," said the King, "you have done your part in your appeal. But I have made up my mind to this." And as he spoke the King drew himself up in his chair once more and seized his pen.

Hurst watched as if fascinated, seeing the King commence to write, and then toss the pen aside as he finished, while afterwards he was about to summon the officer of the guards without, but checked himself, extending his hand to Hurst, who bent over it.

"I will not doubt you," he said, handing him the warrant. "Deliver it to the governor." And then with a wave of the hand he dismissed the chamberlain, who withdrew.

Outside the chamber, Hurst proceeded a short distance down a corridor, and then gazed at the doc.u.ment by the light of a swinging lamp.

"The death warrant of the King of France," he mused, as he noted the words condemning the Comte de la Seine to die, and then the formula: "By the King. Given at our Court at Windsor--Henry R."

He went on slowly along the corridor till he had pa.s.sed beyond the King's private apartments, and, as if drawn by some attraction, made his way in the direction of the chamber where Francis was lying suffering from his wound.

"Bad, bad, bad," he muttered to himself. "I must be right, and Francis was ill-advised, if advised at all, and not led by his own impetuous nature to play such a trick as this. Well, he gambled with his life, and he has lost. What is it to me? I have my duty to perform. But I would give something now for the instinct of the prophet, to be able to see what this will mean in the future to France and to my own country when it is known."

He walked on dreamily, and then started, for he found that he had unconsciously drawn near to Francis's chamber, and he hesitated, half disposed to go in and see how he fared; but he frowned and went on.

"No," he said, "I have my own head to think of, and my movements may be misconstrued by the most jealous man that ever sat upon a throne."

He was pa.s.sing slowly on in the gloomiest part by the door, when he started, for some one had silently glided out of the opening and plucked him by the sleeve.

"My lord," whispered a voice.

"Ah!" exclaimed Hurst. "You are the doctor, the Comte's follower with the strange eye. What of your master? How is he now?"

"Bad," said Leoni softly.

"So much the better," said Hurst bitterly. "Insensible?"

"At times, my lord."

"Better still."

"You speak strangely, my lord."

"These are strange times, my man. I spoke so out of sympathy with your master. It may save him further pain."

"Further pain?" said Leoni, earning the chamberlain's term of the man "with the strange eye" by the peculiarly fixed look which was dimly seen.

"Yes, further pain. People who are insensible do not suffer, do they, doctor?"

"No, my lord; but what do you mean?"

"What is the meed of a thief who robs a king? Is it not death?" cried Hurst fiercely; and as he spoke he stretched out one hand and tapped it sharply with the folded warrant that he held.

"Hah!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Leoni harshly, and then almost as fiercely as the chamberlain he whispered, "Would he dare to raise his hand against the amba.s.sador of France?"

"No, sir," said the chamberlain coldly, "but against the thief of the night, who abused his hospitality that he might steal. Hark ye, man; if you have your master's interest at heart, tell him to try to make his peace with the King by telling him where the jewel lies, for it must be somewhere concealed. Let him give it up and crave the King's mercy, before it is too late. Do this, and it may save your life as well."

He turned away, leaving Leoni standing motionless a short distance from the door, where he remained without stirring until the chamberlain's footsteps had died away.

CHAPTER FORTY.

A BOY'S RUSE.

The doctor lost no time in thought, but returned to the outer apartment which he had quitted only a few minutes before, to find that Saint Simon had joined Denis and was watching by the bed where Francis lay insensible.

"We must act at once," he said, as they joined him and he gazed at a narrow window through which the moonlight came. "Our King is in danger of his life."

Denis's hand went to his sword.

"We will fight to the last," he said, "and die."

"Boy!" exclaimed Leoni contemptuously. "Fight and die! Better act with craft and live. What! Would you fight an army? Bah! It is not by that means that we can save his Majesty from this perilous pa.s.s."

"Then how?" asked Denis. "Order me to do anything and I will obey."

"I know," said Leoni thoughtfully; "I know." And he took a pace or two up and down the apartment with his eyes fixed on the floor, while the two young men watched him narrowly, seeming to be endeavouring to read his innermost thoughts, the ideas which surged within.

"There is but one thing to be done," said Leoni at last gravely.

"Francis is ill and closely guarded, and his life is doubly in danger, for Henry's intentions are lad." And as he spoke he looked hard at Denis, who said not a word.

"And what is that one thing?" asked Saint Simon.

Leoni thought a minute or two before replying.