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A young man was sitting on the deck a few yards away, his back against a capstan. He looked supremely uncomfortable trying to read a little blue-backed book. Marcella looked at Louis's chair empty beside her. "Wouldn't you like to sit on this chair?" she said, and the young man looked up startled. "You look so uncomfortable there. This chair isn't being used. Won't you sit down?"
Pol, a few more nobles, and about eighty archers of the Scottish guard. As he rode towards Peronne, Philip of Crèvecoeur, with two hundred lances, met him on the way to act as his escort to the presence of the duke, who awaited his guest on the banks of a stream a short distance out of Peronne. St. Pol was the first of the royal party to meet the duke as herald of Louis's approach.
She remained alone, passing her weary hours in keeping her chamber and clothes neat, in knitting, and in reading a few books, which she had read over and over again. How came her little brother to be alone too? Why, Simon accepted an office which he liked better than that of being Louis's guardian, and left him on the 19th of January.
The latter was a very beautiful young lady of sixteen, whose face captivated everybody who came into her presence; and Louis's mother had deemed it her duty to warn her son against the fascination of the maiden before he had found his million.
She felt she could take heart of grace from the fact that another fool had won through to healing and victory. When, presently, Louis's voice came to her, she turned with a swift vision of him as King Amfortas with the unstaunchable wound. He had washed and brushed his hair, and changed into pyjamas. He looked very pitiful, very ill.
As Gabriel again read over Brother Stephen's last page, it set him to thinking; and a little later, as he walked home in the frosty dusk, he thought of it again. It was true, he said to himself, that all the beautiful written and painted work on King Louis's book had been done by Brother Stephen's hands, and yet, and yet, had not he, too, helped?
Speak knew you of this assault of this insurrection of this murder? Speak thou art one of Louis's trusted Archers, and it is he that has aimed this painful arrow. Speak, or I will have thee torn with wild horses!"
The ministers of Louis's court, being at their wits' end to know what was to be done to allay the disturbances, were of the mind that they could and would, at least, enjoy themselves. The King having always been at his wits' end was not conscious of being in any unusual or dangerous position.
Pavillon then furnished him with a passport to pass the gates of the city, and to return by night or day as should suit his convenience, and lastly, committed him to the charge of his daughter, a fair and smiling Flemish lass, with instructions how he was to be disposed of, while he himself hastened back to his colleague to amuse their friends at the Stadthouse with the best excuses which they could invent for the disappearance of King Louis's envoy.
"Ah, ha! blackguard, pawnbroker, traitor!" he cried, shaking his fist at this portrait of a stout and smiling-looking gentleman. "I loathe you! I despise you! I spit upon you!" And he did. Now, Monsieur the Count de Choiseul was the French nobleman who was one of the old King Louis's ministers and advisers. It was he who had planned the conquest of Corsica, and annexed it to France.
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