h the keep]. Send him to me--do thou
begone to thy quarters.--As thou dost value thy life, be not so loose of
thy tongue as thou hast been this day slack of thy hand."

Well pleased to escape so easily, yet with a soul which revolted at the
cold blooded cruelty which the King seemed to require from him in the
execution of his duty, Durward took the road indicated; hastened down
stairs, and communicated the royal pleasure to Oliver, who was waiting
in the court beneath. The wily tonsor bowed, sighed, and smiled, as,
with a voice even softer than ordinary, he wished the youth a good
evening; and they parted, Quentin to his quarters, and Oliver to attend
the King.

In this place, the Memoirs which we have chiefly followed in compiling
this true history were unhappily defective; for, founded chiefly on
information supplied by Quentin, they do not convey the purport of the
dialogue which, in his absence, took place between the King and his
secret counsellor. Fortunately the Library of Hautlieu contains a
manuscript copy of the Chronique Scandaleuse of Jean de Troyes [the
Marquis de Hautlieu is the name of an imaginary character in whose
library Scott declares himself to have found the memorials which form
the basis of the novel of Quentin Durward], much more full than that
which has been printed; to which are added several curious memoranda,
which we incline to think must have been written down by Oliver himself
after the death of his master, and before he had the happiness to be
rewarded with the halter which he had so long merited. From this we
have been able to extract a very full account of the obscure favourite's
conversation with Louis upon the present occasion, which throws a light
upon the policy of that Prince, which we might otherwise have sought for
in vain.

When the favourite attendant entered the Gallery of Roland, he found the
King pensively seated upon the chair which his daughter had left some
minutes before. Well acquainted with his temper, he glided on with his
noiseless step until he had just crossed the line of the King's sight,
so as to make him aware of his presence, then shrank modestly backward
and out of sight, until he should be summoned to speak or to listen. The
Monarch's first address was an unpleasant one: "So, Oliver, your fine
schemes are melting like snow before the south wind!--I pray to Our
Lady of Embrun that they resemble not the ice heaps of which the Switzer
churls tell such stories