urn against so good, so
great a father. That--that--staggered me for the moment. It beggared
reason; it--it--but let me read the despatch for myself, sire. Not for
belief, but for comprehension, and that we may meet the blow together,
that we may turn it aside--may turn it back on--on--the hand that
strikes."

"Aye!" said Louis drily, "that is more like the Commines of old, the
Commines who served his master without an 'if.' And that is a good
phrase of yours--turn back the blow on the hand that strikes! When
that is done, and the time comes for reward, I will not forget that it
was your phrase. And it was for that I sent for you: I knew my friend
Commines would find a way to--to--guard his master effectually."

Before Louis ended all the harshness had gone from his voice, and it
became marvellously gentle, marvellously kindly, almost caressing. A
master student of the subtle trifles which unconsciously influence
great events, he played upon men's minds as a skilled musician on his
instrument, and they obeyed the touch. Nor was Philip de Commines,
opportunist, political adventurer, philosopher, soldier of fortune,
diplomatist, exempt from the influence of that skilful mastery. As he
had gloomed so now he gladdened: he squared his shoulders to his
fullest height, filling his lungs with a deeper inspiration, and the
colour ran back to his cheeks in flood. Nor was it all in pride; there
was relief, and the lifting up of a burden which for one terrible
moment had threatened to crush him to the earth itself.

But the life which gave its strength to the hand which lifted and
dragged down was frail almost to extinction, and remembering that one
day the Dauphin must step into Louis' place Commines ventured to
temporize.

"Yes, sire, but to turn back the blow I must know who aims the blow,
whence it comes, where it will strike, and when. To fight in the dark
is to waste strength. Have I your leave to read the despatch from
Amboise?"

"Eh?" With the gesture of a natural impulse Louis held out the paper,
then drew it back. "We will wait a little. I am tired, very tired.
This shock has unnerved me. Let me sit down, Philip, and rest."

Slowly, with an arm on Commines' shoulder, he turned and, sinking into
the chair, leaned forward upon the table in an attitude of utter
weariness, his hand still resting upon the despatch. So there was a
pause for a moment, Commines standing to one side, silent and ill at
ease