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And yet there are times when even a sleepless night can leave a light heart behind it. For the first time since coming to Amboise Stephen La Mothe felt at peace with himself and with all the world, though the latter is a secondary consideration. As between the two disturbers of his comfort a man's most triumphant foe is his conscience. And he had good cause for comfort.
For an instant they hung upon a stair-edge, then, in a writhing, floundering mass, breast to breast, breathless, half dead or dying, they rolled to the floor. From behind La Mothe heard Ursula de Vesc cry, "Oh God! pity him!" in a sob. But he dared not turn, his own blood-drunkenness fired him to the finger-tips and he lunged furiously, getting home a stroke above a point lowered in the surprise.
But the outcome of the thought surprised and disappointed the watcher. "La Mothe?" "Sire, I vouch for La Mothe." "God's name, Philip, has the fool nothing to say for himself?" "I had forgotten. To-day's blessed relief drove it from my head. Can you blame me, Sire, if I forgot everything but my joy? Last night, as I left Amboise, he said, 'Pray Heaven the King still lives.
She had hardly uttered the words when Madame La Mothe interrupted the pair with the warning the Countesses of Provence and Artois were approaching. The mock queen retired in haste.
"To tell the King what I know Monsieur La Mothe will never tell him that he has twice saved the Dauphin's life against that would-be murderer, Molembrais. And when all France hears the story, as all France shall, not even the King will dare to lay a finger on the most loyal gentleman from Artois to Navarre.
As this good prelate saw he must resign himself to let me go, he said to me, "You were willing to be in the diocese of Geneva, and there they persecuted and rejected you; I, who would gladly have you, cannot keep you." He wrote to Father La Mothe that I should go in the spring, as soon as the weather would permit. He was sorry to be obliged to let me go.
"Thanks, Jean," he said patronizingly, nodding towards the room he had left as he spoke. "Close the door behind me, my good fellow: both my hands are full." Then raising the candle, he turned and scrutinized La Mothe with a curiosity as great as La Mothe's own and much more frankly evident. And he was worth studying, as a rare specimen is studied in the difficulty of classification.
Several lords were found guilty; Sieur de la Mothe actually died upon the scaffold for having unjustly despoiled and maltreated the people on his estates. "He was not one of the worst," says Flechier, in his Journal des Grands Jours d'Auvergne. The Duke of Bouillon, governor of the province, had too long favored the guilty.
To have read coldness or reproach in her eyes at such a time would have been bitter indeed. It was but a glance, then La Follette touched his arm. Down below there was no longer the rasp of steel on wood. Hugues was fighting now barehanded, but he had been better than his word the three minutes had been prolonged to four. Then came a cry, "Ah, God!" and La Mothe heard Ursula de Vesc sob.
Down, Charlot, down! leave Monsieur La Mothe's parcel alone. You are always pushing your nose where it is not wanted. What have you in that napkin, Monsieur La Mothe?" "For your acceptance, Monseigneur " "Charles, not Monseigneur," said Ursula softly. "You will be calling me mademoiselle next!" "Hush, Ursula! I cannot hear what Monsieur La Mothe says if you keep chattering.
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