for the ballroom, where the dancing was in full progress; but the Comte
was not leading one of the brightest ladies of the Court through the
mazes of gavotte or minuet, and as the King turned angrily to his
chamberlain it was to find him in close converse with one of the
gentlemen in attendance.
"The Comte made the excuse of a bad headache, Sire, some few minutes
back, and retired to his apartments with his suite," whispered Hurst.
"Then I am afraid we shall make it worse," said the King bitterly.
"This way, Hurst; I must have the truth of this before I sleep." And he
strode from the room, closely followed by his companion, to whom in his
excitement as he followed the angry lion the movements of the dancers
seemed mocking, and the music sounded strange.
CHAPTER TWENTY NINE.
DARK WORK.
More than one of the Court ladies thought the gallant Comte strange in
his manner, as they waited, fully expecting that he would come up and
offer his hand to lead them through the next dance; but it soon became
evident that nothing was farther from his intentions, and after looking
on for a short time he slowly left the great apartment, and began to
make his way towards his own rooms. "I don't like it; I don't like it,"
he muttered. "It is vile and degrading. I feel as if only to think of
it were lowering myself to the level of some cutpurse. I would I had
never come. No," he added sharply; "the time has passed too gaily for
me to say that; and the good, bluff, hot-tempered, cheery Henri! I like
the brave Englishman, and my faith, I have made him like me, traitor as
I am.--No, it is not I. It is the spirit of that cunning, subtle Leoni,
with his horrible fixed eye. I cannot tell why, but he masters me--King
as I am. He turns me round his finger and forces me to obey even
against my better feelings; for I think I have some. Can it be that he
is more than man, that he possesses some strange power over one's brain,
as he does over the body when one is ill? Well, I'll be master now. I
will not do this thing. By my sword, is this cunning Italian to force
his master to become a thief? No! He shall learn to-night that I'll
have none of it. Conceal who I am! Play the part of a masquerading
spy! No! to-morrow I'll tell my brother Harry the whole truth."
He started violently as he came to this conclusion, for a dark figure
suddenly glided from behind one of the statues in the long passage he
was following. "You, Leoni?" he said, in a hoarse whisper. "M. le
Comte! Yes, it is I. You have been long."
"Long?" said Francis haughtily. "How--" He stopped short, for Leoni
placed his lips close to his ear. "France is anxious, Sire, and the
time has come."
"The time!" said the King sharply. "Not for that?"
"Yes, M. le Comte, for that. I have been waiting for the fateful moment
to arrive for the great opportunity, and it has come."
"But," cried Francis, "I have been thinking--my position here--my good
friend the King. Leoni, all this must end; I cannot, I will not do this
thing."
"Sire!" whispered Leoni.
"No, no, man. It is the Comte de la Seine you speak to, and who tells
you he will let you lead him no more through these devious ways. Who
are you that you should dare to force me onward into such a crime?"
"Your servant, sir, but at the same time he to whom it is given to lead
you aright towards making your country the greatest in the world."
"Through crime?" said the King hotly.
"The acts of kings, sir, are outside crime. You are the anointed, and
can do no wrong."
"Of my own will, no; but this:--"
"Sir, the spirit of your country calls upon you to act. The fateful
jewel we came to seek is ready to pass into your possession, and the
time has come--"
"Leoni, I will not hear you. I swear I will not sully mine honour with
such an act. This deed shall never be done by me."
"Deed--deed, sir--act! You speak as if it were a crime," whispered
Leoni.
"It is a crime," cried the King angrily. "Dare not to speak to me of
this deed again. Now, enough. The King expects me back, and to-morrow
I will place myself outside temptation, and leave this place. Whatever
happens, my visit here is at an end."
"Your visit ends to-night, sir," said Leoni, in a low, harsh whisper;
and as he spoke he leaned forward, passed his hands quickly before the
King's face, and then caught him by the wrist.
"Leoni!" said Francis quickly. "What means this?"
"I have told you, sir. It is too late to attempt to shrink back now
that the fateful moment has arrived. Quick, sir, and in an hour's time
we shall be on our way to the coast. Silence, sir," he whispered
sharply, as Francis essayed to speak, looking half dazed the while in
his companion's eye, as Leoni leaned towards him with his hot breath
passing over the monarch's face. "This way, sir--quick!"
"Where? Where?" faltered the King. "What does this mean, Leoni?" he
whispered. "Have you been tricking me with one of your accursed drugs?"
"Silence, sir! I am calling you back to your duty," whispered the
doctor, as he guided Francis quickly along the passage, still holding
him tightly by the wrist, "for once more I pray you to prove yourself
our country's greatest son."
Francis made no reply, no sign, but, yielding helplessly, allowed
himself to be led to the door of his ante-chamber, where the door opened
without being touched, and, once inside, closed behind them, Saint Simon
having been waiting, while Denis, who looked pale and excited by the
light of the two candles that illumined the room, rose up from where he
had been kneeling, securing the straps of a valise.
No one spoke a word, for Leoni raised his hand as if commanding silence,
as he still held the wrist of Francis, who gazed vacantly from one to
the other as if he were in a dream.
"Is the Comte ill?" said Denis anxiously.
"A little over-excited," said Leoni quickly. "A cup of water, boy."
And as he spoke, without leaving his grasp of the King's wrist, Leoni
thrust the hand at liberty into his breast and drew forth a little
golden _flacon_, which glistened in the light.
"Set down the cup," said Leoni quickly, as Denis returned from the
bedchamber with the water. "Now, boy, unscrew the top of this, and hold
it in your hand."
Leoni held out the little glistening flask, retaining it tightly, while
Denis twisted off the tiny, cup-like top.
"Not that way, boy; turn it up so that I can fill it to the brim. Now,"
he whispered, "empty it into the water, and screw on the top once more."
This was quickly done, and the _flacon_ replaced.
"Now," continued Leoni, "hand the cup to the Comte. The ballroom was
overheated, and the wine he has drunk to-night has affected him.--Drink,
sir; you will be better then."
The King started slightly, looked wildly in the eyes that seemed to
master him, and with a slight shiver took the handed cup, drained it,
and uttered a low, deep sigh.
"Ah," said Leoni, smiling in a peculiar way. "Now, gentlemen, the time
has come for action. You, Saint Simon, be silent, and alert. There
must be no bloodshed unless it is to save the Comte. You will come with
us, and I shall depend upon your sword for our protection if there is
peril in the way. You, Denis, boy," he continued, turning to the young
esquire, who stood looking on now with his lips apart and a strange
feeling of misery and despair oppressing him, "you have your duty to
perform."
"Not to--" began Denis; but he was checked by the angry gesture the
doctor made.
"Silence, sir! Your master's work. Follow us outside, and remain there
on guard. The Comte's valise is ready. Never mind our own. Here,
quick! Where is the cloak?"
Denis darted to a _garde-robe_ and drew out the monarch's cloak.
"That's right. Throw it down there. You will now allow no one to pass
in here, but stand on guard till we return. If we are not back here by
the time the castle clock has chimed twice you will take the cloak and
valise, go down the long corridor, if possible unseen, and make for the
stables, where you will have the horses saddled at once."
"But--"
"But!" snapped out Leoni. "They must be saddled. Quick! Slip off my
pouch and gird it on. There is gold enough within, and if that will not
move the people there you have your sword."
Denis uttered a sigh of relief as he hastily unclasped the doctor's
belt, for this was work he felt that he could do.
The next minute he was following his companions across the ante-chamber,
ready to close the door behind them and place himself on guard in a
gloomy angle of the corridor, from whence as he watched them he saw
their figures seem to glide along the lighted portion, the Comte
yielding entirely to his leader's every motion, till they passed quickly
out of the sentry's ken.
CHAPTER THIRTY.
BEARDING A LION.
The King walked swiftly on in the direction of that portion of the
castle where he had lodged his guest, the polished oak boards of the
floor resounding beneath his heavy tread, while the chamberlain heard
him keep muttering to himself as he went, till he reached a portion
where a couple of officers stood on duty by a heavy door, ready to
challenge them; but seeing in the half darkness who their visitors were,
they drew back saluting, and opened the doors to allow them to pass.
"Your Majesty," said the chamberlain, in a low tone, as they began
passing down an inner passage, and Henry read in his voice a protest
against the action he was taking.
"Have done with your scruples," he said. "I am not going to assassinate
Francis, or even do him ill, only to make sure." And he proceeded on
his way, motioning to another officer, who came forward and saluted, to
resume his post.
Turning at right angles, and going some distance further on, the King
stopped again.
"It should be here," he said quietly, and he moved towards a wide arched
door, but drew back suddenly, for a figure emerged from the shadow into
the full light, naked sword in hand.
"You cannot pass," said the sentry.
"Who are you?" said Henry.
"A follower of the noble Comte de la Seine," was the reply.
"And he mounts guards at his chamber door?" said the King haughtily.
"Yes; but by what right do you come here and question me?"
Henry advanced into the light of a lamp overhead, and threw back his
robe.
"I have the right," he said.
Denis drew back, but only a step.
"The King!" he murmured. "The King!"
Henry nodded quickly.
"You know me? Good. I have another word I wish to say to your master
to-night."
"Sire," said Denis, dropping on one knee, "it is impossible."
"Impossible!" thundered the King.
"Impossible, Sire."
"Impossible! To me! In to your master at once, and tell him I have
words to say to him to-night. By Heaven, it is an honour I do him, I
think!"
"But, Sire--" cried Denis, who still barred the way.
"You heard me, boy?"
"Yes, Sire."
"Then--obey!"
"I regret to repeat to your Majesty that I cannot."
"Cannot!"
"No, Sire."
The King burst into a harsh laugh, and turning to the chamberlain,
pointed angrily at the boy, before facing him again frowningly.
"Stand back, boy, and let me pass."
"I regret, your Majesty. Order me to do something else far more
difficult--I would cheerfully obey your commands."
"But I have nothing else which I wish you to do--only this. Let me
pass."
"No, Sire."
"Boy, it is the first time in my recollection that I have been refused
obedience. Why do you stay me?"
"My master, Sire, has ordered me to keep strict guard here."
"Hurst, what am I to do to this obstinate fool?"
The chamberlain stepped forward.
"Boy," he said, "it is from sheer ignorance that you place yourself in
such a position of danger. Sheathe your sword at once, sir, and let his
Majesty pass. Do you not know that there are guards here at every turn?
My royal master's guests will be well protected without your aid."
Denis stood motionless, and made no attempt to stir.
"Do you hear, sirrah!" roared the King. "I am in no humour to wait
longer. Stand back."
This was too much for the determination of the young esquire. It was a
king who spoke, and drawing back slightly, he yielded to circumstances,
feeling that his puny efforts were in vain, and guarding the door no
longer, he thrust his sword back into its scabbard and stood aside.
"Ah!" cried the King, growing mollified upon seeing himself obeyed, and
looking admiringly at the lad. "Not bad, Hurst, for a mere boy," he
said. "May I always be as well served by followers of mine. There," he
continued, stepping forward towards the door, and looking back at Denis,
"you can follow me, and I will make your peace with your lord, for I am
master here."
He tapped sharply at the panel of the door with the hilt of his sword,
and Denis heard him breathing heavily as if after some great exertion;
but there was no reply, and he tapped again, with the same negative
result. Then with an angry snort he said mockingly:
"Our young esquire seems to have reason on his side, and the Comte must
be asleep. Am I to leave him to his slumbers, Hurst? But maybe he will
sleep the better after awakening and hearing all I have to say. Open
the door, Hurst. Bah! I need no help for this." And, brushing by the
chamberlain, he noisily raised the latch, thrust open the door, and
entered the room.
It was the ante-chamber, with the couple of candles burning on the
mantel. The richly embroidered cloak lay upon the couch where it had
been hurriedly thrown, and the valise lay ready packed and strapped.
The King's eyes flashed as the valise caught his eye, and crossing the
room quickly he made for the door of the sleeping chamber, which was
ajar.
There was no pause to ask for entrance here, for now fully roused, the
King thrust open the door, with the light from behind him falling fall
upon the unpressed bed.
"Hah! What I expected," cried the King angrily. "This way, Hurst.
There is mystery and trickery here."
As he was speaking the clock from one of the turrets was chiming loudly,
the sounds of the bells seeming to quiver in the still air and mingle
with the faint strains from the room where the dancing was still going
on.
The chamberlain rushed forward, looked sharply round, and made for the
casement; but it was closed and fastened inside.
"The boy on guard, Sire, and no one here!" cried the chamberlain. "I do
not understand."
"Nor I," cried the King; "but we will, and that right soon." Then
making for the door, which had fallen back as the chamberlain entered,
he dragged it open, crying angrily, "Boy, your master is not sleeping
here. Where is he? What have you to say? Ha!" he roared, like the
angry lion he had described himself to be. "Quick, Hurst! Our guards!
The boy has gone!"
CHAPTER THIRTY ONE.
LEONI'S WEAPON.
But as Hurst made a step forward to summon the guard the King caught him
by the wrist.
"By my faith," he ejaculated, "there is black treachery here! Am I in
my own palace or in a tavern? These fellows come and go as if the place
were their own. A mystery too. But by the crown I swear I'll solve
it!" And for a few moments he stood fuming. "Here, Hurst," he said
hoarsely, "your brains have been sharper than mine, and I'm beginning to
think you are right about that portrait. Ambassador--poet--brilliant
conversationalist--one who has won himself into favour with us all.
Hah!" he went on. "He can be no Comte de la Seine! Can you ever trust
a Frenchman? But come on!" And he led the way back into the long
gallery. "I've got ears like a cat to-night," he said; "but
unfortunately not the eyes of one. Surely those were footsteps down
yonder?"
"Yes, Sire," said Hurst. "Beneath that window--a white doublet!"
"Yes," cried the King. "Come on!"
"But the guard, Sire? Shall I gammon them?"
"No, no," cried the King impatiently. "This is exciting. We will be
our own guard, and find out the truth ourselves."
The King and the chamberlain had not gone many yards along the gallery
when they they came to a halt, for a figure barred the way.
"Who goes there?" came from out of the gloom.
"Pst!" said the King. "Young Carrbroke.--England!" he cried.
The figure came nearer, into the light of a window--a slim figure in a
white doublet; and the radiance of the moon flashed on a bared and
shining sword.
"Your Majesty!" he exclaimed, and he dropped on one knee.
"Rise," said Henry. "You are on duty here?"
"Yes, Sire."
"Has anyone passed?"
"No, Sire."
"You are certain?"
"Quite certain, Sire."
"Good. Come, Hurst!" And the two proceeded on their way, turning the
corner of the long gallery, passing from gloom to silvery light, and
again into the dusk, as they walked beneath the windows, while at the
angle the lustrous splendour was shed through red glass, falling
brilliantly on the King's plumed hat, his sword and royal star, as the
pair disappeared.
Carrbroke turned and looked after the retreating figures.
"I wish," he murmured, "that his Majesty had ordered me to follow him."
And he stood gazing in the direction the King and chamberlain had taken,
till growing weary, he stepped aside into the shadow, where he could
half seat himself, half lean against the end of a great settee. "How I
do hate this guard work of a night! Yes, and there's the music still
going on. I just heard one strain. All bright and gay yonder, and here
all dark and dull. But it's an honour, I suppose, to be on the watch
over the ways to his Majesty's private apartments, and have him come and
find me here. It means promotion some day, such private service as
this. I wonder where French Denis is? Dancing with the prettiest girl
he can find, I'll be bound. Oh dear, how dreary it is! And I feel as
if I could lie down and go to sleep."
Then with a start he was fully on the alert, ready to step out into such
light as was shed through the window near.
"His Majesty coming back," he muttered, for quick steps were heard
approaching, and a few moments later he stepped quickly out to bar the
way as he did a short time before, and with a feeling upon him that he
would show his master how well he was on the alert.
He challenged, fully believing that it was Henry and the chamberlain,
and started violently on finding out his mistake, for it was Francis,
who cried angrily:
"Who are you?"
"Carrbroke, M. le Comte. This is the way to his Majesty's private
apartments. You cannot pass here."
In an instant Leoni had glided alongside, to lay his hand softly on the
youth's arm.
"My dear young friend," he said, "you do not recognise who it is
speaking. It is the King's friend, the Comte de la Seine. The ballroom
was hot, and these corridors calm, cool, and refreshing. The Comte is
only going round this way to reach his apartment. We can reach it down
this passage, can we not?"
"No, sir," said Carrbroke quietly. "I am sorry to have to turn you
back, but you must seek some other way. I am on guard here, and it is
his Majesty's commands that no one shall pass this private corridor by
night--and no wonder," thought the lad, as he recalled his discovery of
the private doorway not far from where they stood.
Francis uttered an impatient growl.
"Tell him," he said angrily in French, to Leoni--"tell him I object to
being treated like a prisoner"--words which Leoni translated, in the
belief that they were not understood.
"The Comte de la Seine says, Monsieur Carrbroke, that surely his Majesty
would make an exception in favour of his friend."
"I regret it much," was the reply, "but unless the King gives me such
orders in contradiction of those which I have received, I cannot let you
pass. Once more, gentlemen, it is impossible, and you must return. Did
you hear me, M. Saint Simon? Ah, sir, you--" He said no more, for Saint
Simon had passed onward, as if to go on in spite of all that had been
said, but only to turn quickly and seize his arms from behind, while at
the same moment his speech was cut short by Leoni's hand--the subtle
Franco-Italian having literally glided at him to clap a strongly
smelling hand, moist with some pungent fluid, across his mouth.
The action seemed to the lad as instantaneous as its effect. He made a
bold brave struggle, uttering a groaning half-stifled sound, and he
vainly strove to free himself from the pinioning hands of Saint Simon;
while, as if through a misty dream, he saw with starting eyes the dim
figure of his master's guest straight before him, and pointing a
stiletto at his throat.
The next minute Saint Simon, in obedience to the whispered orders of
Leoni, had raised the helpless lad in his arms.
"Is there to be no end to this black night's work?" muttered Francis
angrily. "I don't know how it is. I don't think I took too much of my
brother Henry's wine, for I wanted to dance; but my head is all confused
and strange."
"It was the heat of the room, perhaps, sir," said Leoni.
"Perhaps so. The place was hot and stifling," said Francis. "There are
moments when my brain seems to whirl, and things go round. Did I go to
sleep?"
"Yes, sir; you were certainly insensible to all that passed for a time."
"Of course I was," said the King angrily, "if I was asleep; but why
don't you say so? Here, I don't know what's the matter with me. I must
have dreamed that you took me by the wrist and led me along one of these
dark galleries, to stop and lean against some great piece of furniture
while something was going on. Then all was dark and strange again, and
I seemed to be going for ever along dark passages, till I felt the fresh
air coming in through an open window looking out upon the terrace.
Well, come, Saint Simon; that was not dreaming."
"No, sir," said the young courtier drily.
"You were suffering from excitement, sir," said Leoni quietly. "A touch
of vertigo. You have been doing too much of late. But you feel better
now?"
"Oh yes, better now--and worse, for I am not certain but what this rough
dealing with that boy is not part of another dream."
"That is no dream, sir," said Leoni meaningly; "but be silent and let me
guide. We are on our way to make our escape."
"Escape!" whispered back the King excitedly. "Then--then--oh, it's
coming back quite clearly. You have tried and failed?"
"Hist! Silence, Comte!" whispered Leoni, in a commanding tone, as he
turned upon the speaker, but without taking his hand from Carrbroke's
lips. "Our task is nearly at an end, sir, and I will answer to you
later on.--Now, Saint Simon, lay the boy quickly on that couch."
"Have you killed him?" whispered Francis.
"No, sir; only plunged him into a deep sleep.--That's right, Saint
Simon." And then in a mocking tone, "I am afraid that the faithful
sentinel will be in trouble when they find him here asleep. I didn't
think to find him here. Now, quick, before we are interrupted again."
And he moved a few steps down the gallery, passing his hand along the
hangings which veiled the panelled wall. "Somewhere here," he muttered;
"somewhere here. I seem to know the place so well."
"Leoni," growled the King, "this night will end in our disgrace, and if
it does--"
"Hist, sir! there is a way out here," whispered Leoni. "You hinder and
confuse me, and at a time like this, when everything points to success,
you--ah, here it is!" For his hand had at last come in contact with the
boss, which he turned quickly, pressed hard, making the concealed door
swing back, and then stooped in the gloom to raise the arras. "Now,
sir; through here--quick!"
"What!" said Francis sharply. "Go through there into what may be a
trap?"
Leoni made no reply, but turned to Saint Simon.
"Through with you," he whispered, with a contemptuous ring in his voice.
"I would lead, but I must come last to close the way, for they must not
know the route we have taken in our flight."
The young officer passed through without a word, and, half ashamed of
his hesitation, Francis followed, to have his hand seized in the
darkness by Saint Simon, who led him for a few yards along the dark
passage, where they stopped listening, to hear Leoni close the door with
a faint, half-smothered click.