nor forget the suggestion of the broken sentence he was
not the man to resent it at the moment. The King's arm must endure
pin-pricks as well as deal justice. It was Commines, rather, who
replied.

"Hush, Stephen, our friend is entirely right. It is you who
misunderstand. The King's justice is in all his acts. Yes! and not
only his justice, but his mercy and his greatness, and these three have
made France what she is."

"And all these three are waiting for Monsieur La Mothe. Come, young
sir, the King is very weary and it is time he was in his bed--though I
would not advise you to tell him so," and leaving the door open behind
him Tristan went out into the night: that he did so they were sure, for
they heard the rasp of his feet on the flags of the court.

"How long was he there?" Commines spoke under his breath as his
fingers closed on La Mothe's arm with a grip which left its mark. "How
long was he listening? What did he hear? You fool, you fool, you may
have ruined yourself--and me, and me. And why has he left us together?
He has some reason for it--some end to serve: his own or the King's.
Try and think what you said: no, not now, there is no time, but when
you are with the King, and unsay it, unsay it. And Stephen, remember,
he is the King, he is the Master of France, the maker of France, and he
is dying. Promise him----"

"Monsieur La Mothe, Monsieur La Mothe, is the King to wait all night,
or shall I say Monsieur d'Argenton detains you?"

"Go, boy, go. Promise everything, everything--he is the King," and as
Commines pushed him through the doorway La Mothe could hear his breath
coming in heavy gasps.

CHAPTER V

THE KING LAYS BARE HIS HEART

If proof were needed of the King's unique trust in his Grand Marshal it
was to be found in the ease with which Tristan conveyed La Mothe past
the sentries who stood guard at every door. Not Commines, not Lessaix,
not Beaujeu himself, for all that he was the King's son-in-law, could
have brought a stranger to the King's presence without special licence.
But to none Tristan gave greeting, much less vouchsafed explanation,
and by none was he challenged. Nor did La Mothe speak. Not only had
the suddenness of the unexpected summons confused him, but his thoughts
were too deeply busied trying to remember how far he had allowed his
tongue to outrun discretion.

To say he was afraid would be too much, to say he had no fear would be
too little, but hi