at all in the King's
confidence. If Louis had any sinister coup in his mind, Leslie, or
Saint-Pierre, or Lessaix himself would have been on duty.

With an alert, quick step, that had in it none of the stiffness or
fatigue of a long night's ride, Commines mounted the stairs, answering
friendly salutes at every turn. As at all times with the King in
residence, the halls, corridors, and ante-rooms were like those of a
barrack rather than of a royal chateau. Here and there he was
challenged and his way barred by a lowered halbert, but it was more or
less perfunctory, and at the password the way was cleared. That
Beaufoy was unfeignedly glad to see him was another satisfaction. Ever
since he had come in sight of Valmy an uncomfortable sense of
friendlessness had haunted him with the unreasoning horror of a
nightmare, and Beaufoy's welcoming smile was like the wakening into
sunshine.

"_Dieu merci_! but I am thankful you have come," he said, but speaking
softly so that no sounds passed through the curtained door at his back.
"Four times within the hour the King has sent asking for you. It is
like the cry of one of his own parrots, 'Commines! Where is Commines?'"

"Who have seen him this morning?"

"His two janitors of the eternal, if it be no sin to say so--the priest
and Tristan. Fortune keep their last ministrations far from me!"

"Then the King is awake?" said Commines, unbuckling his sword-belt and
handing it to Beaufoy.

"Awake, but in bed as a good Christian ought to be at this time of day.
Faith! Monsieur d'Argenton, you are in fortune's pocket; four times
within the hour he has asked for you--four times, as I'm a starving
sinner without a hope of breakfast."

"The better appetite later!" Letting the curtains fall behind him
Commines pushed the door open softly, closed it softly at his back, and
advanced a step. But in spite of the caution of his quiet Louis heard
him.

"What's that? Who's there? Beaufoy--Beaufoy----"

"Sire, it is I--Commines."

"Commines!" he repeated, the sharpness of his frightened voice
dwindling breathlessly. "Commines, Philip, what--what news from
Amboise?"

"The very best, Sire."

"The very best! Ah, God, my son! my son! The very best? Oh, France!
France! Philip, tell me--tell me your news. But is the door
shut--shut fast?"

Through a prolonged life Commines never forgot that scene and never
answered, never dared to answer, even in the secret of his own mind