are, and they could let loose the exuberance
of their puppydom without a fear that a sudden cuff would teach their
youth that wild delights find an end in sorrow. Over each other they
sprawled in their heedless eagerness to get near to this new
playfellow, one, a little weaker than the rest, lagging a half-tail's
length behind, and La Mothe was so busy trying to find a hand for each
to mumble that he never knew how long Ursula de Vesc stood watching him.

Nor was she in any haste to break the silence. A puzzling factor had
come into her life, and she was impatient of the enigma. The solution
was not a question of curiosity but of safety, and a safety not her
own. On one side was Commines, Louis' devoted adherent, devoted not
alone in service, but in blindness, the blindness which questions
neither means nor purpose; on the other side was Villon, Louis' jackal
and open ears in Amboise. Between these two so profoundly distrusted
stood Stephen La Mothe. Between them, but was he of them? That was
the problem.

That morning, from Hugues' report of the visit in the darkened quiet of
the Chateau, and remembering how familiarly Villon had introduced La
Mothe overnight, she had had no doubt, and the cautious secrecy of the
rendezvous with Commines argued some sinister threat. But now she
doubted, and as she watched La Mothe's careless play with the dogs the
doubt grew. Hugues had kept his eyes open: the gapped bank and the
narrow strip of grass between the bay and the river into which the grey
horse had been thrust, without a hesitating thought of the inevitable
result which must follow a slip or a swerve, spoke not alone of
personal courage, but said plainly that La Mothe was ready to risk his
life for the Dauphin. Neither Commines nor Villon would have done
that, they would have let him perish and raised no hand to save him.

Where, then, was the sinister threat? And had not the devotion which
she had so contemptuously scoffed at the night before already proved
itself to be no empty word? Yes, she had scoffed, and he had answered
her scoff at the risk of his life. How, then, could he be one with
Commines and Villon? The thought that she had so misjudged him flushed
her as with a sudden heat, the grey eyes grew tenderly troubled in her
self-reproach, and unconsciously she drew a deeper breath. Slight as
the sound was the dogs heard it; round they spun from their play, their
mouths open, their tongues hanging,