In a moment Lagardere enveloped himself in his gypsy's cloak and flung
himself on one of the benches of the Inn, where he lay as if wrapped in
the heavy sleep which is the privilege of those that live in the open air
and follow the stars with their feet. When the king, accompanied by
Chavernay and followed by Bonnivet, crossed the bridge and paused before
the Inn, nothing was to be noticed save the huddle of gray cloth which
represented some tired wayfarer.
Louis of France looked about him curiously. "Is this the Inn of the Three
Graces?" he asked.
He even allowed himself to laugh a small laugh.
The Marquis of Chavernay smiled a faint smile. "Yes, your majesty, and
since I have been privileged to behold two of its three attendant graces
in the flesh, and found them most commendable girls and goddesses, I
think, without indiscretion, I could hazard a guess as to your reason for
this visit."
The king looked at his impudent companion with the complaisant good-humor
which, since his much-talked-of bereavement, he was prepared to extend
to those most fortunate among his courtiers who could succeed in
diverting his melancholy. He was familiar with Chavernay's impertinences,
for Chavernay had soon discovered that the witticisms which would have
gained the frown of the cardinal earned the smiles of the king. "Truly,"
he said--"truly, I do come for an assignation, but it is with no woman.
You boys think of nothing in the world but women."
Chavernay made the king a most sweeping reverence. "Your majesty would,
if your majesty deigned to condescend so far, prove the most fatal rival
of your most amorous subject."
Since the death of the cardinal, Louis liked it to be hinted that he was
still the man of gallantry, irresistible when he pleased. So he smiled as
he caught Chavernay's ear and pinched it. "Imp, do you think you lads are
the only gallants, and that we old soldiers must give way to you?"
Chavernay saluted him again. "You are our general, your majesty--we win
our battles in your name."
Louis laughed and then looked grave, smiled again and then sighed. "My
dear Chavernay, when you are my age you will think that one pretty woman
is very like another pretty woman. But there is no pretty woman in this
case."
Chavernay made a still more ironical bow. "Your majesty!" he said, with
an air that implied: "Of course I must appear to believe you, but in
reality I do not believe you at all." Chavernay was thinking to himself
of the adorable creatures whom he had seen disappear within the walls of
the Inn and the walls of the caravan, and he drew his conclusions
accordingly, and drew them wrong. When the king answered him, he
answered, gravely, as one who objects to have his word questioned even by
a frivolous spirit like Chavernay.
"I come here," he said, "in reply to a letter I received two days ago--a
letter which appeals to me by a name which compels me to consider the
appeal. That is why I come here to-day. My correspondent makes it a
condition that I come alone. Take Bonnivet with you. Keep within call,
but out of sight."
Chavernay bowed very respectfully this time. The newest friends of Louis
of France knew that they best pleased him by appearing to presume on his
good-nature, but even the lightest and liveliest of them felt that there
was a point beyond which he must not venture to presume. Chavernay felt
instinctively that he had reached that point now, and his manner was a
pattern to presentable courtiers.
"Yes, your majesty," he said, and turned to Bonnivet, and Bonnivet and he
went over the bridge and out of sight among a little clump of trees on
the roadside. From here they could see the king plainly enough, and hear
him if he chose to raise his voice loud enough to call them, but here
they were out of ear-shot of any private conversation. That their
presence in the neighborhood was scarcely necessary they were both well
aware, for there were few conspiracies against the king's authority and
no plots against the king's life, and if Louis of France had chosen to go
unattended his pompous, melancholy person would have been in no danger.
Louis walked slowly to the little table in the arbor, and, seating
himself, took out a letter from his pocket and read it thoughtfully over.
Then he drew a watch looped in diamonds from his pocket and looked at the
hour. As he did so the huddled, seeming sleeping figure on the bench
stiffened itself, sat up erect, and cast off its cloak.
Lagardere rose and advanced towards the king. "I am here," he said, in a
firm, respectful voice.
Louis turned round and looked with curiosity but without apprehension at
the man who addressed him, the man who was dressed like a gypsy, but who
clearly was no gypsy. "Are you the writer of this letter?" he asked.
Lagardere saluted him with a graceful reverence. "Yes, your Majesty. I
know that you are the King of France."
Louis slightly inclined his head. "I could not refuse a summons that
promised to tell me of Louis de Nevers. Are you Lagardere?"
Lagardere made a gesture as of protest. "I am his ambassador. Have I the
privilege of an ambassador?"