ve.
I will give you your life on one condition."

The boy started, and the King smiled.

"Not to sign a paper which gives me Bordeaux and Guienne, but to be my
faithful servant and serve me as you have served your master to the end.
I want followers like you. Be English, even if you have French blood
flowing in your veins. Well, why do you not speak? Is not mine a
kingly act?"

"Yes, Sire, and I am grateful."

"Well, why do you hesitate? Enter my service. The star of the Valois
must be setting fast when its representative can stoop to such a deed as
this."

The lad shook his head.

"What! Do you not understand? I will find work for your sword. Serve
me faithfully, and rank shall in time be yours. Do you forget that your
life is still at stake?"

"I cannot buy it, Sire, by betraying my master. Francis is my King."

"And fortunate in having followers like this," said the King to himself,
as he rose, turned sharply from where the boy still stood with his arms
crossed upon his breast, fighting hard for the resignation that refused
to come, while his heart now beat slowly and heavily, as if in the march
that ended in the scaffold and the axe.

The next minute the King had flung open the outer chamber door, as if to
show to the boy his fate, for there stood the captain with the guards
drawn up on either side, their armour gleaming and the lights they bore
flashing from their halberds' heads.

But the boy stood firm, seeing as it were through the glittering
pageantry of the English Court the gleaming fields of far-off France, a
sparkling river, and the grey steeple turrets of an ancient French
_chateau_. It was home, with all he loved therein.

It was momentary, and the vision was dissolved by the King's loud voice,
as he cried sharply:

"Who's with you there? Hah! Hurst! Look here, man."

"Your Majesty!" cried the chamberlain, looking at the boy in
astonishment.

"Behold my royal visitor!" cried Henry mockingly. "This is the way my
courts are kept."

"I do not understand, your Majesty," cried the chamberlain, trembling
for what was next to come.

"But I do, man!" cried Henry. "Here is our sick and wounded prisoner."

"A ruse--a trick!" said the chamberlain excitedly.

"Yes--French," cried Henry, with a mocking laugh. "The bird has flown,
and left another in his nest. There, young popinjay, young daw--look at
him, Hurst! He has cast his borrowed plumes." Then turning to Denis:
"Put