be a relief. So all was well; the
King's fears could be set at rest, and he himself was freed from an
odious duty. Against his expectation he had quitted Amboise with clean
hands.

Nor even as regards the Dauphin, and the future the Dauphin
represented, was there much to regret. There was even, he believed,
much to hope. Ursula de Vesc controlled the boy, Stephen La Mothe
would influence the girl, and Stephen owed him everything. These were
all so many links in a chain, and the chain bound him not only to
safety but to continuance in his present offices, perhaps even to
advancement. Even though the King had died there was no need to remain
in Amboise to secure himself; La Mothe would do that for him. But the
King was living, the King would welcome his failure, would be touched
by his prompt return to Valmy, and the world was a very good world for
those who knew how to use its hazards and chances rightly.

The stern justice of the King had swept the highways clear of violence.
According to a grim jest of Villon's, thieves and thievery were alike
in suspense from Burgundy to the sea. Except the ruts of the road,
deep in places as the axles of a cart, or the turbid waters of the
Loire, treacherous in the darkness and swollen by heavy rains in the
upper reaches, travelling was as safe by night as by day, and Commines
met with no delays but those at all times inseparable from such a
journey. Tristan's forethought, as it proved, had provided no
accident. This time there was no halt at the Chateau-Renaud. Through
the little straggling village they rode at a hand-gallop, and except to
bait or breathe the horses on a hill-crest, no rein was drawn until the
dawn had slipped from grey to glory and a new day lay broad upon the
fields. When that hour broke, they had made such progress that they
had reached the place whence Commines had shown La Mothe the three good
reasons why his men would keep their counsel.

"Dismount and ease the saddles," he said, slipping a foot from the
stirrup as he spoke, "the gates will not be opened for two or three
hours at least. Lead the horses on slowly, I will follow you."

But he was in no haste. In the small hours of the morning the currents
of enthusiasm, like those of life, run slow. It is then that the
spirit of a man is at its weakest. Or perhaps it was the sight of
Valmy that cooled his optimism. There it lay, grey and forbidding even
with the yellow sunlight of dawn full