sleepy movement, and picking up
his hat dusted it with his hand, then rose with a yawn to his feet.

"I am afraid, Vicomte," he said, in tones that, quiet as they were,
sounded like thunder in the young man's astonished and bewildered ears,
"I am afraid that if you have lost Lusigny--you have lost something
which was not yours to lose!"

As he spoke he struck the embers with his boot, and the fire, blazing
up, shone on his face. The Vicomte saw, with stupor, that the man before
him was not Gil at all--was indeed the last person in the world to whom
he should have betrayed himself. The astute smiling eyes, the aquiline
nose, the high forehead, and projecting chin, which the short beard and
moustache scarcely concealed, were only too well known to him. He
stepped back with a cry of despair. "Sir!" he said, and then his tongue
failed him. His arms dropped by his sides. He stood silent, pale,
convicted, his chin on his breast. The man to whom he had confessed his
treachery was the master whom he had agreed to betray.

"I had suspected something of this," Henry of Navarre continued, after a
lengthy pause, and with a tinge of irony in his tone. "Rosny told me
that that old fox, the Captain of Creance, was affecting your company
somewhat too much, M. le Vicomte, and I find that, as usual, his
suspicions were well-founded. What with a gentleman who shall be
nameless, who has bartered a ford and a castle for the favour of
Mademoiselle de Luynes, and yourself, and another I know of--I am blest
with some faithful followers, it seems! For shame! for shame, sir!" he
continued seating himself with dignity in the chair from which he had
risen, but turning it so that he confronted his host, "have you nothing
to say for yourself?"

The young noble stood with bowed head, his face white. This was ruin,
indeed, absolute, irremediable ruin. "Sir," he said at last, "your
Majesty has a right to my life, not to my honour."

"Your honour!" Henry exclaimed, biting contempt in his tone.

The young man started, and for a second his cheek flamed under the
well-deserved reproach; but he recovered himself. "My debt to your
Majesty," he said, "I am willing to pay."

"Since pay you must," Henry muttered softly.

"But I claim to pay also my debt to the Captain of Creance."

The King of Navarre stared. "Oh," he said. "So you would have me take
your worthless life, and give up Lusigny?"

"I am in your hands, sire."

"Pish, sir!" Henry replie