ened that, as the funeral procession of the king was
hurrying through the side streets near the confines of the old city of
Paris, there encountered it, entering from the great highway which led
from the east up to the city gates, the carriage of a gentleman who
might, apparently with justice, have laid some claim to consequence. It
had its guards and coachmen, and was attended by two riders in livery,
who kept it company along the narrow streets. This equipage met the head
of the hurrying funeral cortege, and found occasion for a moment to
pause. Thus there passed, the one going to his grave, the other to his
goal, the two men with whom the France of that day was most intimately
concerned.

There came from the window of the coach the voice of one inquiring the
reason of the halt, and there might have been seen through the upper
portion of the vehicle's door the face of the owner of the carriage. He
seemed a man of imposing presence, with face open and handsome, and an
eye bright, bold and full of intelligence. His garb was rich and
elegant, his air well contained and dignified.

"Guillaume," he called out, "what is it that detains us?"

"It is nothing, Monsieur L'as," was the reply, "They tell me it is but
the funeral of the king."

"_Eh bien_!" replied Law, turning to one who sat beside him in the
coach. "Nothing! 'Tis nothing but the funeral of the king!"

CHAPTER II

EVER SAID SHE NAY

The coach proceeded steadily on its way, passing in toward that quarter
where the high-piled, peaked roofs and jagged spires betokened ancient
Paris. On every hand arose confused sounds from the streets, now filled
with a populace merry as though some pleasant carnival were just
beginning. Shopkeeper called across to his neighbor, tradesman gossiped
with gallant. Even the stolid faces of the plodding peasants, fresh past
the gate-tax and bound for the markets to seek what little there
remained after giving to the king, bore an unwonted look, as though hope
might yet succeed to their surprise.

"Ohe! Marie," called one stout dame to another, who stood smiling in her
doorway near by. "See the fine coach coming. That is the sort you and I
shall have one of these days, now that the king is dead. God bless the
new king, and may he die young! A plague to all kings, Marie. And now
come and sit with my man and me, for we've a bottle left, and while it
lasts we drink freedom from all kings!"

"You speak words of gold, Suzann