on rooted to the spot,--indignant
passion in that heart which despair and sorrow had almost rendered
callous.

"His Majesty was still laughing as he mounted his barb in the courtyard;
and the courtiers, like well-bred gentlemen, laughed as became them,
with that low, quiet laugh which is the meet chorus of a sovereign's
mirth, when suddenly two loud reports, so rapidly following on each
other as almost to seem one, startled the glittering cortege, and even
made the Arab courser of the king plunge madly in the air.

"'_Par Saint Denis!_Messieurs,' said Louis, passionately, 'this
pleasantry of yours is ill thought of. Who has dared to do this?'

"But none spoke. A terrified look around the circle was the only reply
to the king's question, when a page rushed forward, his dress spotted
and blood-stained, his face pale with horror,--

"'Your Majesty,--ah, Sire!' said he, kneeling. But sobs choked him, and
he could not utter more.

"'What is this? Will no one tell?' cried the king, as a frown of dark
omen shadowed his angry features.

"'Your Majesty has lost a brave, an honest, and a faithful follower,
Sire,' said Monsieur de Coulanges. 'Arnoud de Gency is no more.'

"'Why, I saw him this instant,' said the king. 'He asked me some favor
for his boy.'

"'True, Sire,' replied De Coulanges, mournfully. But he checked himself
in time, for already the well-known and dreaded expression of passion
had mounted to the king's face.

"'Dismiss the _chasse_, gentlemen,' said he, in a low thick voice. 'And
do you, Monsieur de Verneuil, attend me.'

"The cortege was soon scattered; and the Marquis de Verneuil followed
the king with an expression where fear and dread were not to be
mistaken.

"Monsieur de Verneuil did indeed seem an altered man when he appeared
among his friends that evening. Whatever the king had said to him
assuredly had worked its due effect; for all his raillery was gone, and
even the veriest trifler of the party might have dared an encounter with
wits which then were subdued and broken.

"Next morning, however, the sun shone out brilliantly. The king was
in high spirits; the game abounded; and his Majesty with his own hand
brought down eight pheasants. The Marquis de Verneuil could hit nothing;
for although the best marksman of the day, his hand shook and his sight
failed him, and the king won fifty louis from him before they reached
Saint-Germain.

"Never was there a happier day nor followed by a plea