"Sire, I blush for my looks. But your zealous soldiers would not let me
from their clutches. I am just come from killing Paul de Lorraine."
"What! the spy Lucas?"
"Himself. And when I left the spot by way of the window in some haste, I
was not expecting this honour, Sire."
"Nor do I think you deserve it, ventre-saint-gris!" the king cried.
"Though you come hatless and coat-less to-day, you have been a long time
on the road, M. de Mar."
"Aye, Sire."
"You might as well have stayed away as come at this hour. Marry, all's
over! Go hang yourself, my breathless follower! We have fought all our
great battles, and you were not there!"
Scarlet under the lash, M. Étienne, kneeling, bent his eyes on the
ground. He was silent, but as the king spoke not, he felt it incumbent
to stammer something:
"That is my life's misfortune, Sire."
"Misfortune, sirrah? Misfortune you call it? Let me hear you say fault."
"I dare not, Sire," M. Étienne murmured. "It was of course your
Majesty's fault. We cannot serve heretics, we St. Quentins."
"Ventre-saint-gris! You think well of yourself, young Mar."
"I must, Sire, when your Majesty invites me to dinner."
The king burst into laughter, and his temper, which I believe was all a
play, vanished to the winds.
"Pardieu! you're a glib fellow, Mar. But I didn't invite you to dinner
for your own sake, little as you can imagine it. So you would have
joined my flag four years ago, had I not been a stinking heretic?"
"Aye, Sire, I needs must have. Therefore am I everlastingly beholden to
your Majesty for remaining so long a Huguenot."
"How now, cockerel?"
M. Étienne faltered a moment. He was not burdened by shyness, but before
the king's sharp glance he underwent a cold terror lest he had been too
free with his tongue. However, there was naught to do but go on.
"Sire, had I fought under your banner like a man, at Dieppe and Arques
and Ivry, M. de Mayenne had never dreamed of marrying his ward to me. I
had never known her."
"The loveliest demoiselle I ever saw!" the king cried. "I shall marry
her to one of my staunchest supporters."
[Illustration: THE MEETING.]
The smile was washed from M. Étienne's lips. He turned as white as
linen. In one moment his youth seemed to go from him. The king,
unnoting, picked a parchment off the table.
"To one of my bravest captains. Here's his commission, my lad."