is that at the
table?" His voice rose shrilly into a cry. "That is not Paul Beaufoy."

The shift of eyes, the change of voice, rather than the words
themselves warned La Mothe. Round he spun, irresolute in surprise.
Nor was it the figure stooping at the table-edge with a hand reached
for the light that caught his gaze, it was the gleam of that light
clear upon a signet ring, and Villon's phrase rang in his ears--"A
martlet with three mullets in chief." Then the lamp flickered out.

"Molembrais!" he cried, and sprang on Molembrais; and from behind, as
they twisted in each other's arms, he heard the King whisper in an
indrawn, frightened breath, "Molembrais! Molembrais!" as if the dead
had risen.

Molembrais! It was the third cast of the net. Straining his grip yet
tighter, La Mothe fought for his life. Molembrais was the stronger,
Molembrais was the more desperate, and desperation is a strength in
itself. Twisting, their limbs interlocked, they spun, tripped and
fell; and with the blood drumming in his ears La Mothe heard nothing,
knew nothing, felt nothing but Molembrais' hot breath in his face,
Molembrais' tense muscles closing, stiffening, crushing as they rolled
upon the floor, wrestling as they rolled. Then of a sudden the room
was ablaze, a racking violence wrenched. Molembrais from his clasp,
and he was pressed back downward on the floor, a sword at his throat.
It was Commines; Leslie and a guard held Molembrais; beyond, at the
doorway, stood Ursula de Vesc; by the bedside Father John stooped above
the King, his arm thrown round him.

"Stephen, Stephen, what madness is this?"

Propped on his arm La Mothe pointed to Molembrais.

"Molembrais!" he panted. "Twice--the Dauphin--now the King. Thank God
I knew him at the last."

By the bedside the Franciscan stooped lower, whispering in the King's
ear--whispering urgently, insistently, pleadingly. What he said none
heard, but the hard face slowly softened.

"Philip, let him rise; you did well to vouch for Monsieur La Mothe.
And you, young sir, who have learned when to speak and when to keep
silence, was I not right? Amboise was dull, and queen and waiting-maid
are all of the one flesh? Mademoiselle, take him back to Amboise with
you and watch together over my son, the Dauphin, and the God of Mercy
be gracious to you both as He has been to me this day."

He paused a moment. Shifting on his elbow he laid an arm round the
Franciscan's neck, draw