me laugh, pleasant to hear.
There was nothing of self-consciousness in it, and no protest could
have more clearly proved that the mental comment of Commines'
shrewdness had read the broken melody aright.

"That is easily settled. All His Majesty has to do is to find me a
wife of seven thousand crowns a year with two or three little additions
to give salt to their spending. Item, eyes which see straight; item, a
mouth that's sweet for kissing; item, a temper as sweet as the mouth;
item, a proper appreciation of my great merit. But, Uncle, what is the
service?"

"That the King will tell you himself. And, lad, when kings talk it is
a simple man's duty to listen and obey. Stephen, whatever the service
may be, do it."

"Gratefully and faithfully, Uncle. Anything my honour----"

"Honour? God's name, boy, the King's honour is your honour: the King's
service, no matter what it may be, is your honour. Are you, a
milk-child from Marbahan, knowing nothing of the ways of men, to talk
of your honour to the King?"

"Yes, but Uncle, Monsieur de Perche taught me----"

"Monsieur de Perche? Monsieur de Perche taught you many admirable
truths, I don't doubt. That he might so teach you I placed you in his
household seven years ago. Monsieur de Perche has taught you the use
of arms, and that courtesy which next to arms goes to the making of a
man. But what can a simple gentleman in the wilds of Poitou know of a
king's service? and above all, of such a King? His little household
with its round of petty thought was his great world, and a trial of
hawks an event to be talked of for a week; but all France is the
household of the King, and beyond the borders the eagles of Europe are
poised to harry us. But while he lives they are afraid to swoop.
While he lives, yes, while he lives."

"But after him comes the Dauphin?"

"A child! a puling, weakling, feeble child. Stephen, as king the
Dauphin spells disaster."

"He will have you to guide him, Uncle, and under you----"

But Commines silenced him with a gesture full of angry denial.
Unconsciously La Mothe had put his finger on a rankling sore.

"With the Dauphin king my career ends!" he said harshly. "He and those
around him hate me as they hate his father: hate me because I am
faithful to the father. And yet, Stephen, I have sometimes
thought--this is for you alone--it might be that if in some crisis of
his life I served the Dauphin as I served his father--but no! no