And yet you were doing something of the same yourself.
With you it was love in duty; with me, duty in love. For, Stephen,
make no mistake. Notwithstanding what it shames me to remember, I love
and reverence the King as the truest friend France has. May God spare
him to France until the boy has grown to be a man. Woe to thee, O
land, when thy King is a child. Henceforward I think the Dauphin has
nothing to fear; all that man can do to draw father to son and son to
father I will do. Stephen, your mission here is ended."

But in the darkness La Mothe shook his head; this was the real Philip
de Commines, the Commines he had known and loved. The crust of
selfishness which overlies the heart of every man given overmuch to one
purpose, even the most honourable, had broken up, and the generous
warmth of the kindly nature within asserted itself. To such an one La
Mothe could speak as he could not speak to the shrewd politician, or
the leader of men.

"Not ended yet, Uncle. With you I pray the King still lives, and that
is more than I could honestly have said in the Hercules room yonder
with Saxe spinning his lies. Tell him that within twelve hours I shall
have fulfilled to the very letter the orders he gave me. Watch him as
you tell him, you who are so shrewd a judge of men, and I think you
will say that to draw the father to the son will not be difficult."

"You believe that, Stephen?"

"I know it, Uncle; but here are the horses." With no more words La
Mothe assisted Commines to mount, standing by his knee as he settled
himself in the saddle. Then Commines stooped and the two men clasped
hands.

"God keep you, Stephen."

"And you, too, and may all be well at Valmy," answered La Mothe
earnestly, and added impulsively, "Uncle, have you nothing to say to
me?"

"Only this, Stephen, thank God for a good woman," and with a last
pressure of the hand Commines rode on into the darkness, his two guards
a length behind him.

CHAPTER XXVII

THE SUCCESS OF FAILURE

For once in his career Phillip de Commines, ambassador and diplomatist,
was well pleased to have failed, or rather, paradoxically, he told
himself that failure was his true success. The King--he had come to
the conclusion that Louis had played one of those grim jests which were
not all a jest and at times had tragic consequences--the King, no
doubt, had been deceived, possibly by Saxe, and to have Saxe proved a
liar beyond question could not but