re need of friends than Landless of the Duchy
of Lackeverything." The girl had risen slowly to her feet as she
repeated La Mothe's words, and now as she paused the shadow again broke
in lines of troubled care along her forehead. "Monsieur La Mothe, what
was the end of the story you began last night?"

"It has no end as yet. The end is here in Amboise, and my hope is we
may find it together. I am sure we will if you will but help me. But
the story is true."

"How can you say that?" she burst out passionately. "Where do you find
one little, little sign of love in Amboise? I can see none, none at
all. Nothing but neglect, suspicion, even hate. Oh! it is terrible
that a father should so hate his son. And yet you say there is love."

"I say what I know. Trust me, and give me time to prove it."

"We do trust you, indeed we do. Love in Amboise? Is it for that you
are here?"

"Yes," answered La Mothe soberly. "It is for that I am here?"

"And Monsieur d'Argenton? Is that why he is here too?"

For a moment La Mothe returned no reply, but stood passing his fingers
through Charlemagne's soft hair. The lie direct or the lie inferential
would parry the question and possibly serve both Commines and the King;
but how could he keep his hands clean in Amboise and lie even by
inference to Ursula de Vesc who had said so simply, "We trust you"? It
was impossible, not to be thought of for a moment, but neither was the
whole truth.

"Monsieur d'Argenton and I are not upon the same errand," he said at
last. "Some day, when you know me better, and trust me for something
better than a little brute courage which any man in my place would have
shown, I will ask you a question. When you have answered it--and I
know what the answer will be--I will tell you why Monsieur d'Argenton
is in Amboise."

"Monsieur La Mothe, ask your question now."

"No, the time has not come. But I will ask this: Help me that the
Dauphin may trust me, and together we will make the end of the story
Love and Peace and Faith."

"Love and Peace and Faith," she repeated, her eyes filling for the
second time. "They have long been strangers to Amboise. God send our
France such a trinity."

And again La Mothe had to check himself lest he should reply, "To you
too, mademoiselle." To bring just such a trinity into her life, Love
which worketh Faith, and the Peace which is born of both, was the one
supreme good which the world could offer out of