s go and pray that Monsieur La Mothe will soon
come back to us."

"Monseigneur--Charles!" cried La Mothe, taking the stretched-out hand
in both his, "you are a gallant little gentleman. No; I do not think
you will forget to be Roland. God save the Dauphin!"

"Thank you, Monsieur La Mothe. Monsieur from Valmy, you have my leave
to go. Come, Father John." With a stiff little bow he hooked his arm
into the brown sleeve of the Franciscan, and the two left the room.

"I think, monsieur," said Ursula de Vesc, "the Dauphin speaks the
sentiments of us all. You have Monsieur La Mothe's parole: he will
follow you in five minutes."

But how spirit drew to spirit as lip to lip in these five minutes needs
not to be told. Whoso has seen love go out of life, uncertain of
return, will understand. But if that morning there had been a passing
behind the veil into the holy of holies where immortal love dwelleth,
then in these five minutes there was the very throbbing of the heart
which beats eternal even in these earthly walls of time.

Nor was Villon drier of eye as he waited under the stars.

"He knows too much," he said; "and when a man knows too much, not even
a ballad can save him."

CHAPTER XXXIV

LIGHT IN THE DARKNESS

But for two happenings by the way Stephen La Mothe's ride over the
route taken twenty-four hours earlier by Commines was without event.
Of these happenings one was bitter and one was sweet, and in mercy the
bitter came first, leaving the sweet to comfort the end of the journey.

Once fully clear of Amboise the leader of the troop halted, and by a
prearranged plan his followers gathered round them, hemming them into a
circle as they had hemmed Beaufoy earlier in the day.

"Monsieur La Mothe," he said civilly, but speaking with the air of a
man who had a fixed purpose, "there is a certain signet which I must
demand. We who come from Valmy always say must and demand," he added,
with a touch of grim humour, which was lost on La Mothe, but which Paul
Beaufoy would have appreciated.

"Your instructions said nothing about a signet."

"I must have it, nevertheless. You can see for yourself that the order
was written in haste, and how should I know the ring exists if the King
had not told me? To be frank with you, these men do not go with us all
the way to Valmy, and where would I be if, when we arrived, you played
your signet against my scrap of paper?"

"But you have my parole."

"Valmy's