ehead, after drawing back the
plumed cap which had been dragged down over his eyes.

"A cut from sword or axe," muttered Leoni. "It must have been given by
one of those halberdiers. He has borne it bravely, gentlemen, and like
a king. Hah! My handkerchief!"

He snatched it out, just as it was, folded like a pad. "Now then, a
scarf," he said. "Yours, Denis. I will unfasten it myself. You, Saint
Simon, ride back a hundred yards and listen. Make out if you can
whether we are pursued."

Saint Simon turned off and rode back without a word, while Leoni hastily
unfastened and drew off the young esquire's silken scarf, and said with
his white teeth glistening in a sardonic smile in the bright moonlight:

"Why, Denis, boy, you will be honoured to-night. You must save this
scarf as an heirloom, for when you get it back it will be deeply stained
with the royal blood of France."

"Hist!" whispered the lad, flushing. "The Comte will hear."

"Perhaps," said Leoni coolly; "but he will not understand. Ah, that is
better: raise his head a little.--Stand still, horse!" he cried angrily;
and then, as Denis raised the King's head a trifle, the white
handkerchief was bound tightly over the wound, and the scarf adjusted so
that it retained it in its place and formed into a turban-like cover,
while the King's jewelled cap was secured by its strap to the
embroidered baldric he wore.

CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN.

AN AWKWARD HALT.

Meanwhile the strong medicament administered by Leoni had had its
effect, giving the sufferer temporary energy and to some extent
restoring the reeling senses, so that by the time the _al fresco_
surgery was at an end, Francis began to speak with a fair amount of
coherence.

"Who's this?" he said. "You, Leoni? Thanks, man. How cool and fresh
the night air feels! Have I been hurt? Yes, I remember. That caitiff
dog of an Englishman struck me with his partisan, and I had no time to
reach him and pay him back. Thanks, doctor. Yes, I am better now. But
on, on, on!" he panted, with a sudden return of the slight delirium from
which he had suffered. "An end to all this. Fontainebleau! Can we
reach there to-night?"

"No, sir," replied Leoni soothingly, as with his hand upon the King's
rein he led his horse at a walk. "But we are well on the way for the
palace. That's right. That's right. I am weary of this playing Comte,
and all it means. But we shall be late, Leoni; we shall be late.