y, but still stepped forward to the far side
of the chamber, where he took a candle from one of the sconces on the
wall to hold it up above his head in front of a large full-length
canvas, the work of some great master, whose brush had so vividly
delineated the features of his subject that the portrait seemed to gaze
fixedly down at the King, while a faint smile just flickered upon its
lips.

"Does your Majesty know those features?" said the chamberlain. "Who is
that?"

"What!" cried the King, in startled tones. "Philippe de Valois."

"Yes, Sire; and my suspicion grows stronger every hour."

"Hah!" cried the King. "But no: impossible! And yet the same eyes;
that same careless, half mocking smile. Hurst, there is something in
this. The features are similar."

"Yes, Sire. It is a strong family resemblance."

"But who could it be, and why should he come here? To play the spy; for
it could mean nothing else. What sinister plots and plans can there be
behind all this? But you were thinking. You know something more?"

"I know no more than your Majesty. I only suspect."

"Suspect! Suspicion! I hate the very sounds of the words, and all the
black clouds that hang around them. A family resemblance? Then who
could this man be?"

The chamberlain was silent.

"Man," whispered the King hoarsely, "you are my servant. Don't thwart
me now. If you value your place here--more, your life--speak out!"

The chamberlain returned the candle to the sconce, and then said slowly:

"Your servant's life is at your service, Sire. I am not sure, but I
tell you honestly that which I believe. This gentleman is wearing a
disguise, and comes here under an assumed name, and from my soul I
believe he is--"

"Who?" whispered the King, grasping him fiercely by the arm.

"Francis, King of France."

"Hah!" ejaculated the King hoarsely, and with his face taking a fierce
expression mingled with anger, surprise, and triumph. "And what has
brought him here? If you are right. Hurst--mind, I say, if you are
right--But you had never seen this man before, and it may be only a
resemblance."

"It may, your Majesty, but--"

"If it is," whispered the King, with his face looking purple in the dim
light, "the fox has come unbidden into the lion's den, and if the lion
should raise his paw, where would be the fox?"

He looked fiercely and meaningly in his follower's eyes.

"France," continued the King, in a hoarse whisper. "Fra