mines to tell it.

CHAPTER XXVIII

PHILIP DE COMMINES, DIPLOMATIST

Commines broke the silence with a bold stroke. "He carried more
letters than yours, Sire. A man named Saxe----"

"Saxe?" said Louis, drawling the word. "Who is Saxe?"

"An innkeeper in Amboise. Yesterday, an hour or two after I had
received Your Majesty's letter, he came to me with a lying tale."

"What sort of reputation has this Saxe?"

"He is an innkeeper."

"An innkeeper? Innkeepers are decent folk. Travellers trust them
nightly with their property, with their lives even. There is no
discredit in innkeeping. You know, Monsieur d'Argenton, I do not hold
that honesty and honour are the prerogatives of the nobility. This
Saxe, now, what was his tale?"

"One, Sire, that if true would have plunged all France into sorrow, and
you into the deepest grief of all. He accused the Dauphin, a girl
named Ursula de Vesc, and one Hugues, the Dauphin's valet, of plotting
against Your Majesty."

"Philip, Philip, did I not say so? I thought you understood when you
left Valmy. Did I not tell you to sift, and search, and find? Now
comes this Saxe, a decent, reputable man----"

"Sire, Saxe lied."

"Lied?" Loosing the curtain Louis slipped back upon his pillows,
huddled in a shapeless heap, his hands clenched upon his breast, his
chin sunk upon their clasp so that the mouth was hidden. Only the
eyes, dull but with a sombre glow in the dullness, seemed alive. "Who
says Saxe lies?"

"All who heard him, Sire."

"What? There were witnesses?"

"There was need of witnesses for the sake of the publicity afterwards."

"Um! I do not say you were wrong, but it has turned out badly. Well?"

"Saxe proved too much. He swore the Dauphin quoted Molembrais' death
as a reason why all France was----" Commines paused, fearing to offend
by an unpalatable truth, but Louis ended the sentence for him.

"Why France was afraid. Well, that was probable. I see no lie in
that."

"No, Sire; but Saxe fixed the day definitely, and Molembrais was alive
at the time."

The King's hands slipped to his lap and he sank yet further into the
pillows. He was breathing heavily, and from old experience Commines
knew that he controlled his fury of anger only by an effort and because
Coictier, his physician, had warned him that any outbreak of violent
emotion might be fatal.

"Oh, the fool! the--the--the--I must be calm. May all the devils--no,
I must be c