is out to his gentleman, but
now he faced about in time to catch his recruit looking triste again.

"Mademoiselle," he said, "you are beautiful, grave; but, as you had the
graciousness to show me just now, still more beautiful, smiling. Now we
are going to arrange matters so that you will smile always. Will you
tell me what is the trouble, my child?"

"Gladly, Sire," she answered, and dropped down a moment on her knees
before him, to kiss his hand.

I marvelled that Mayenne and all his armies had been able to keep this
man off his throne and in his saddle four long years. It was plain why
his power grew stronger every day, why every hour brought him new allies
from the ranks of the League. You had only to see him to adore him. Once
get him into Paris, the struggle would be over. They would put up with
no other for king.

"Sire," mademoiselle said with hesitancy, "I shall tire you with my
story."

"I am greatly in dread of it," the king answered, ceremoniously placing
her in a chair before seating himself to listen. Then, to give her a
moment, I think, to collect herself, he turned to his companion:

"Here, Rosny, if you ache to be grubbing over your papers, do not let us
delay you."

"I am in no haste, Sire," his gentleman answered, unmoving.

"Which is to say, you dare not leave me alone," the king laughed out. "I
tell you, St. Quentin, if I am not dragooned into a staid, discreet,
steady-paced monarch, 'twill be no lapse of Whip-King Rosny's. I am
listening, mademoiselle."

She began at once, eager and unfaltering. All her confusion was gone.
It had been well-nigh impossible to tell the story to M. de St. Quentin,
impossible to tell it to this impassive M. de Rosny. But to the King of
France and Navarre it was as easy to talk as to one's playfellow.

"Sire, I am Lorance de Montluc. My grandfather was the Marshal Montluc."

"Were to-day next Monday, I could pray, 'God rest his soul,'" the king
rejoined. "But even a heretic may say that he was a gallant general, an
honour to France. He married a sister of Francois le Balafre? And
mademoiselle is orphaned now, and my friend Mayenne's ward?"

"Yes, Sire. I came here, Sire, to tell M. de St. Quentin concerning his
son. And though I am talking of myself, it is all the same story. Three
years ago, after the king died, M. de Mayenne was endeavouring with all
his might to bring the Duke of St. Quentin into the League. He offered
me to him for his son, M. de Mar."